Crash and Burn
by lucia marin
Summary: Rory's idyllic life crumbles when a certain dark-haired boy arrives; a chain of close encounters force her to reevaluate everything. Deep inside, between her books, her dreams, and her curiosity, a forbidden passion begins to arise, a dangerous one....
1. We Will Go

Hey everyone; and here I am, busting out of the Jess/Rory closet. I apologize to the trory fans that appreciated me, but to me, writing is only good when it has a passion behind it. Trory no longer had anything for me, so I move on. And personally, I really like the Jess/Rory combo; the idea behind it is worth exploring. To starz, isabelle, anonymouse writer and all those who came before me; way to pioneer the field. I know this board is mainly trory, but...you just have to read this before deciding!!!!

Anyway, here, without much ado, is the story. I hope you enjoy.

little disclaimer; i only own the story bit, sue me and you'll get some shit. 

take my work under your name, i'll crush your hard-drive and your fame :-}

luv, luce

She was the kind of girl that I remember seeing at the corner store once; hair in her face, picking up bottles of milk carefully, getting a cup of coffee, innocent blue eyes piercing the world with their cynical sincerity. she had looked at me with a passing glance, and I had despised her for her naiveté, but only because her eyes seemed to belong in a different world, one I was not a part of. 

That had been a long time ago, when I had lived in Brooklyn. I had wondered secretly what was the marvelous thing she was holding, the intangible warmth I had no part of. Quietly, she disappeared, and I never remembered her until now.

When I saw Rory Gilmore.

I wiped a countertop and stared; a strange shiver ran through me and I recalled some famous words that passed through my head at a glance.....

"she was an odd girl, so beautiful that she was ordinary.......and her eyes smiled at me when she frowned."

Struggling to recall which book that was from, I went back to the countertop. But inside, the seed had been planted, and I felt the thin shiver of need slice through me cleanly, and disappear as soon as it had come. Puzzled, I poured a customer some coffee, and went to the back.

I've always been tortured by something. Or rather, lack of something. And I had this strange feeling from the start that she had that something I missed. Craving quietly, I went back to my work, trying to put her easy grin out of my mind.

I missed home.

I missed the way the heater kicked in when I woke up, and the house was freezing; outside on the windowsill, a completely iced over pigeon would fall off the ledge and splinter into ice cubes on the pavement below. I'd laugh, and hop out of bed, miserably shivering. Throwing my stuff in a bag, I'd race to catch the R2 on the corner. Sometimes I'd have to wait at the bus stop bench, amidst the scrawled graffiti and broken pavement, and I'd read. Sometimes I brought a book. Other times I read what people had scratched into the plastic.

Nina and Pancho 

Puerto Rico; boricuas for life

233-546-8905, Majo come home.

I love Shakeita.

Silent testimonies to love, misery, and longing, written out by people with not enough courage to scream them outloud from the rooftops. There they clung to the worn plastic, sad reminders of emotions dead or long lost........

Shootings happened on our street once in a while. It wasn't uncommon. Sometimes when I was little my mama told me it was a car backfiring. When I was 9 I found out it never was true. I had almost got hit by a bullet before, but that had cured me of being afraid. You couldn't be afraid if you were going to live. You had to learn a way of walking, standing, glaring, and where to smile and where to not in order to survive. The safest was not to smile at all. Sometimes you'd smoke some weed if everyone was, sometimes you wouldn't; it all depended on your mood. Me and Robbie and Tony Cruz would sell sometimes, but no serious traffic. Just a way of making lunch money. We'd all hole up at Luis' place when we got looked for, and his brother would make some vicious taquitos with rice and beans; or we'd hide out at Terrell's apartment once in a while. His mom would make macaroni and cheese and then shuffle back to her bedroom to lay on her bed and watch Oprah. She'd always wear the same old stringy bathrobe, and Terrell's eyes would be full of something deep and hard when he shut the door behind her.

I used to think it was pain.

The city was cold in winter, unforgiving; the hallways with their stained walls and cool cement echoed with the steps of students, all miserable and crowded into the small spaces. Cracked windows, dirty with grime would glow translucent in the gray winter mornings; there was a sweet poetical misery in it, a degradation and filth that screamed out of thousands of lost histories among it's unfeeling walls.

It wasn't until we got busted for the 10th time that I got sent here.

The police station was cold as ever. The front desk knew my name. The same man with crinkly gray hair and cold eyes looked at me, and said, "welcome back, son."

The 10th time.

Bail was posted, miraculously, not because I deserved it. Rightfully, I should have gone to jail. But it was a hard up year at the station, lack of government funding causing heat shortage and a general shabbiness to the place that wore hard on the eyes. So they took the bail, and used it for God knows what. 

The first moment I found myself here I though I had entered a different world.

It was morning, and rolling over in my sofa bed, I felt sick.

Terrell's face when I said goodbye. Luis' eyes, and the way Robbie and Tony had given me their awkward last glances. The cool smoginess of the station. The sound of the ever moving traffic. The way all our faces said sorry, but our mouths just said goodbye.

Rolling out of the bed, I managed to get into a shower. I felt a little better, but.....not much.

I guess I did do a lot of stupid things since I came here. Back home, they would have been little normal acts of vandalism. People wouldn't even have noticed. But here, they're public business, they're terrible, horrible moral sins. Everyone comes to see, everyone comes to talk. It's sickening, the lack of smarts here. The way you don't have to walk a certain way. Or to look. The sheer infuriating homeyness of it all, like some big Martha Stewart commercial. People decorate, people just walk around for no reason, people smile too much. Thinking of the city and the dirty tile floor at the 7-11 on the corner where we did our work, my stomach heaves. Not because of the 7-11, but because of this place. 

I hate it.

It's maddening. She's maddening. She belongs in the little fairy tale world these people have constructed so carefully. They wouldn't last a day in the city, them with their tall tales and festivals and gnomes and twinkly lights. They'd be crushed on the metro. They'd get shot on the street. 

Everything I know how to do well is useless here. Like protecting myself. Like protecting others and being real with my friends. Like cooking things on a hot plate and kicking the heater to make it work and stealing so easy that even when they see you they don't believe you did it. All these things are useless, and I'm a fish out of the water, not knowing how to live or how to make do.

Not knowing how to talk to her.

Because I need to show someone and have them understand. I'm dying to be understood. I'm a goddamn typical psychological community center counseling reject. Except, I think I might be frighteningly intelligent.

Bitterly, I throw down a cleaning rag into the laundry basket and head back into the front.

And there she is, at a table by herself, and there's something wrong with her. I can see it at first glance. Her eyes are dazed, and her cheeks are flushed and liquid is hovering under her eyelids, making her stare glassy and trembling. She's upset, and her fingers tap down on the table nervously. I can see she's waiting for her mother, and something's happened.

Suddenly, I feel a small pang inside my heart, a small pang of disillusion at the shattering of a perfect life. Her life, not mine. I never had a perfect life. In a way it hurts me, because I had begun to believe that you could be as lucky. But I should have known better. Pain is inevitable in this world.

Grabbing a napkin, I quickly take a pen and scribble down something. Picking up the coffee pot, I head to her table.

Her head is bent, and she does not look up at me. I know it's more than she can handle right now. I'm not the easiest person to talk to, and I've probably hurt her in the past without knowing it.

So I just set down a mug, fill it to the brim, and then leave it on the table with the napkin.

Walking back to the counter, I feel a tiny sense of satisfaction as I see her eyes boring holes into the back of my head, burning with that strange fierceness she has sometimes.

She knows, and when I look up at her slyly, out of the corner of my eyes, her cheeks are tinged with red and her lips are in a tiny smile, as if saying thank you.

But the way they look at me, I can tell they're searching me deep.

If the street has taught you one thing, it's to never let somebody read you. I can see her puzzlement as she manages to get no feel of my emotions, no grasp of what I am or what I'm thinking. She's used to doing this, something that can easily be done with these open small town people.

Not me. Confused, she looks back down at her napkin, her expressions longingly curious. 

Maybe someday she'll know.

I watch her lips slowly mouth out the words, beautiful in their simplicity and hidden meaning.

__

We will go

Nowhere we know.

We don't have to talk at all.....

Beck

She smiles at me again. The bell tinkles quietly as she walks out the door, but I know I've planted the seed of discontent.

It's only the beginning.

RORY'S POV

The words stared up at me from the napkin, crude and exciting in their simplicity, vulgar in their innocence, underlaid with deep tremors of unspoken words. I looked towards him, trying to read him, to see what he meant, but his face and actions gave away nothing. He had been trained well; he was the only person I've never been able to read. His face was a completely calm exterior, so realistic I had to fight to remind myself that it wasn't real. His eyes stared at me quietly when he looked up for a split second, completely calm and emotionless. He went back to wiping the countertop, and then started making more coffee. 

I mouthed the words to myself again, tasting them, turning them over and over inside my mouth. They were beautiful. Simple. An invitation, but to what? A request, but for what? Go where? Why?

Frustrated, I looked at the simple little poem again. Suddenly, I realized it didn't matter which meaning I used. It was all the same to him. When I looked up again at him, he smiled a small smile; he recognized in my eyes that I had discovered the meaning of his little game. Still smiling, I got up and left.

Now that I think about it, I should have said thanks.

We fought again; me and Dean.....I didn't think it would happen, but out of nowhere with a frightening regularity, the bickering started. This time it was a full blown fight. Miss Patty's headline would have read: Trouble in Paradise-Perfect Couple Rocks Sleepy Town with Interpersonal Discord. I don't understand what's happening, things that I believed were right now seem wrong. Things that didn't seem to matter now become subjects of arguments, and everything strangely annoys me. I get irritated so easily......and I don't know why.

There's tiny part of me that says, it's because of Beck over there quoting his poems to you; can't you leave well enough alone? But there's a tiny part of me that longs for something else, for a fresh story, for a new book to explore. I don't want to hear again Dean's little story of growing up here and playing Little League. I want to hear how the Brooklyn Bridge looks in the morning when it's frosted over, I want to understand the melodious, twisted language the Puerto Ricans mix with English, I want him to tell me of nights out on corners, of fights, of cold, of hunger, of all those things I wouldn't know or understand. Beck; that's what I secretly call him now, and I don't know why it's secret. Almost like I don't want to admit to myself he is in my head.

Jess.

He knows things I want to know. And I'm not allowed to know them with Dean standing on my right arm, and this causes a mild but persistent irritation that Dean can't understand. Is it my fault? he asks, and I have to shake my head for the thousandth time. No Dean, it's not you. Sorry for bickering. I'm being grouchy. I'll be Donna Reed.

Whatever.

Before he left, I took one last glance at my secret enigma. There's a cool air of mystery that surrounds him, a worldly knowledge of the terrible and unknown; the knowledge of pain, of passion. Of deep capacity for friendship and love, buried and hidden inside. His sleeves are rolled up, sinewy arms with muscle bound tightly to bone in a lean, casual way work their way across the counter, and it's not hard to see the definition of his arms and chest as he lifts the heavy crates with ease. His fingers are long and slightly rough, with surprisingly clean and well-formed nails, cut short and smooth; they look sensitive and artistic, but worn by the work they've had to do. Dark, messy hair and deep smoldering eyes rest above the slightly twisted mouth; they reveal no secrets. He has a surprising definition to his jaw line that speaks stubbornness, and suddenly, I realize...he's looking at me.........

I leave immediately, but not before thinking twice of the quiet, sullen figure that's looking at me with a gaze so intense I'm afraid I'll break under it. I think he knows, he knows I want to know more. But he won't ask me. He'll wait, wait for me to come to him and ask him to translate....

Heading for home, I think about this enigma. Sometimes, the shadows hide him, but I know he's there, cigarette smoke curling around him, his eyes smoldering and guarded , watching me. A rebel without a cause. Or maybe just a lost poet in a great, miserable city, seeking for something he'll never find. Now he's here, and I wonder, if this is what I've been waiting for. Someone who understands. Someone who could spend a whole day curled up in a dusty study, reading and making notes, having an intelligent conversation, sharing some coffee......

Ashamed, I enter my house. It's this kind of thinking that gets you in trouble in the first place, Rory, I reminded myself. Be cool. Don't let him mess this up for you. You've got what you want. 

"Hey babe, home already?" came the cheery voice from the living room.

"Unfortunately," I muttered, hanging up my coat.

"Where's the floppy haired wonder?" grinned my mom, peeking her head around the corner.

"Somewhere sulking," I told her, and headed for the coffee pot.

"Oh, poor girl, did you two have another squabble? What was it this time? The weather? The brand of chapstick he uses? You know, polls say the majority of girls prefer Strawberry chapstick on their boyfriends rather than Medicated. Is he using medicated? Cause if he's using medicated, you could always tell him to change. Unless it's about the weather."

"I don't know what it was about," I groaned, frustrated. "He was telling me about flunking some test, and I was telling him to be responsible, and from there it just went straight to 'you smart, me stupid? what you say! Bah! I hit you with club and carry you to cave! bad concubine! bad!'"

"Oh Jesus," moaned my mom. "Maybe the hair hides the empty space, that's why he keeps it long. Sweetheart, maybe you should avoid the academics topic with Dean. He's not exactly the most academically oriented person I know. He works at a grocery market."

"I'm sick of having to avoid topics! There's too much stuff I don't dare talk about. I'm sick of hearing him say stuff like "you'll go to harvard and I'll work at the coffee shop across the street" and other junk like that. For God's sake, I'm tired of avoiding things."

"Like what? Other guys?" grinned Lorelai.

"Mom!" I hissed. "You're making me sound like a hooch. I don't want to get with anybody else. I'm just feeling penned in."

"The day I'd hear you compare yourself with a sheep." 

"Maybe I'm comparing myself to a pig. Pigs can be penned in."

"Ok, Babe. Isn't that what I call you anyway? Alright, then it's Miss Piggy. Or Wilbur. Are you saying you're a pig?"

"No! I'm just saying sheep is a cliche when you say penned in. Sheep aren't the only ones that wander." I said, frustrated and confused.

"Yeah well, I think you should be a sheep cause you've gone astray."

"I'm not an animal. Ok? And how am I going astray?"

"You're straying from the kitchen, Donna. Your Narcolepsy Boy is waiting for you to bring him his slippers. March."

"Ok, that's it. No more talking to you."

"Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry-"

"Except to tell you to stop that."

"Sorrysorrysorrysorry"

"Hey!"

"Hey back! No child of mine talks to me like that. Or sheep of mine." grinned my mom.

I stomped upstairs muttering, thinking about what she said. As nonsensical as our conversations are, she does speak a lot of truth. I always find the answer in them. And this particular conversation told me that she was right; I was penned in, sheep or not. Ruefully, I looked at the problem again, and let it drop. It was too much for me to handle.

It had turned evening by the time I was done with my homework, but I was in no mood to call Dean.

"What do you talk about?" Jess had asked me. I mean, Beck.

Now I looked back at his words, and truly wondered. What did we talk about?

I couldn't remember one substantial thing. Always going back to the same old jokes. Always discussing events. Always talking about other people or things. Never discussing school, or books, or greater dreams, or our histories, or our feelings. The conversations were light and passed easily, and I always ended up feeling like......instead of eating I had swallowed air and realized too late I was empty.......

"Going for a walk!" I yelled to my mom, who sat on the couch doing bills.

"Don't be too late. And don't wander too far from the herd." she replied absently.

"Har har har, funny. I'll be bout half hour." I said pointedly, and marched outside.

The cool autumn air enveloped me, reminding me that snow was almost here; bundled up in a coat and scarf, only my cheeks were a little cold. I started walking down the main streets, wandering past the familiar buildings, until I reached a bench. Sighing a little, I remembered the kisses Dean and I shared on a bench once. The peaceful days.....

"Hey," interrupted a voice.

The first thing I smelled was faint cigarette smoke. I knew it was him immediately, before even looking up.

"Put that thing out," I said, wrinkling my nose in disgust. "Cigarettes are an addiction you should get rid of. They hurt your lungs."

"And coffee is an addiction you should get rid of. It makes you short and gives you weak bones, and is technically a drug like nicotine."

I looked back in surprise at his immediate and sarcastic reply, suddenly feeling warm. He was fighting back.

"I don't see coffee patches and chain coffee drinkers and coffee recovery centers. Methinks your problem is a tad more serious than mine."

"Fine, whatever you say, future midget. When Ringling Bros comes calling don't whine to me."

"Oh I won't, you'll be dead of lung cancer by then."

"And you'll be a nervous wreck that's too short to look up into my casket to bid me farewell." he replied, grinning.

"Who says I'll come to your funeral?" I answered, delighted.

"Oh, you will because they always have coffee afterwards when everyone stands around and gossips about the deceased. You'll probably bring your boyfriend for moral support and to hold your IV tubes." he answered gamely, not offended.

"At the rate things are going, my boyfriend's gonna be needing IV tubes if he starts one more argument." I muttered, immediately sorry I had.

"All things not well in Lollipop Land? Are things suddenly altering from the Disney Script?" he asked innocently.

"I should have never opened my mouth," I sighed, and crossed my arms.

"Sorry," he finally said, and we sat in a short silence.

"It's ok, it's not your fault. I'm just stressed. Lately, we haven't been......connecting much."

"Sounds like an Oprah line if I ever heard one."

"Great. Since I'm such a great guest, why don't you be the host. Let's resolve my problems in a half hour with commercials." I replied sarcastically, but he looked at me, eyes suddenly gleaming.

"Hello, hello everyone!" he replied in a earthy, feminine voice. "So glad to see you! Let's start in right away on today's subject, Rory! Rory sweetheart, why don't you tell us what's wrong?"

Bursting in a fit of giggles, I looked at him incredulously, and then decided.

"Well, Oprah," I replied in a sad, whiny tone. "Me and my little dream of a boo-boo have been having some communication problems lately. I just feel like he's not letting me in on his emotions."

"Get counseling and lose weight like I did! Thank you very much! That will be all for today's show! When we come back, sleazy to classy; makeovers of the century." he finished, with a feminine laugh and an affected wave.

Laughing quietly, the two of us sat on the park bench, just letting it all go.

"Why can't you be like this all the time?" I suddenly asked out of the blue when I'd managed to control my giggles.

"Like what?" he asked, in that tone that sent those tiny shivers through me.

"Like.....not sullen and sarcastic and grouchy and in trouble and morose and -"

"Alright, I get it, I get it," he sighed. "Maybe I'm having a good night. Maybe you should just enjoy the coincidence."

"I don't think it's a coincidence," I said softly.

His eyes glistened dark underneath the pale silver streetlight, and he ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair. His curiously shaped mouth opened a little, a tiny wisp of steam dissapearing into the cool night air when he exhaled. Fascinated, my gaze locked on his lips for a strange moment before I realized what I was doing. If my cheeks weren't already red from the cold it was guaranteed they were crimson now.

He smirked, not a mean smirk but a tiny acknowledging smirk.

"How would you know?" he asked, and I truthfully didn't have an answer.

"I.....think......"

"Shh....don't say a word. Thanks for coming out. I didn't think you'd get it." he answered quietly, and stood. I jumped to my feet, facing him, the steam from our warm breath evaporating in tiny clouds, like a silver fog under the streetlight.

"Get what?" I answered, suddenly awkward, suddenly feeling numb.

"The poem, Beck," he said simply and walked off. 

I watched him enter the diner, watched him as he took his coat off inside the golden lighted room; a slight tingle in my fingers. 

Must be the cold.

My mind feverishly whispered the words of the poem again, my lips mouthing them in the silver fog; my eyes watching his figure in the window, his lean and powerful outline in the glassed warmth. He turned one last time, meeting my gaze and holding it steadfastly. We stared at each other from across the street for a second, and then I turned and fled.

Whispering the words all the way home, I ran, the tingling in my fingers reaching up my arm, my mouth forming them over and over again; realizing the impossible, feeling my heart speed up, and then drop. I felt sick, then dizzy, then deliriously happy; I wanted to giggle, but the thought seemed ridiculous, I felt something inside me soar......

Dazed, I walked in through the front door , took off my coat and plopped on the couch.

One eyebrow went up from my only spectator.

"From the dazed look in your eyes, I think the sheep has gone astray."

Mute, I ginned at her, my smile wide and senseless. I went upstairs and laid on my bed a long time, wanting of sleep.

Sorry it was so long, I just had to get off on the right note. For all those who read, even if not a jess/rory fan, feel free to drop a line or a little review letting me know what you thought, be it good or bad. I'd appreciate it much.......


	2. Nowhere We Know

Hello! Here's the second installment, without much ado. I'm glad those of you who read liked it, I appreciate the feedback. So, the story continues, slowly, but surely; just hold tight. the good stuff's coming.

disclaimer; first ch.

enjoy.

luce

JESS POV

I'm watching them from the window, and it hurts. Pain and disillusionment always hurt, even when they're not yours; and watching Rory and Dean argue is not something I enjoy. Even though a tiny feeling of hope spreads it's wings inside my chest, I crush it instantly, seeing the tortured expression on her face. Oh God..... I think she's crying.

Biting my lip hard, I go to the back. I can't stand to watch. 

When I come out, I hear the furious sound of the door closing; I don't look up, knowing it's her. She needs her privacy even though it's a public place. Good thing it's empty right now.

Out of the corner of my eye I see her figure as it plunks down into a corner booth, facing the wall; she puts her head on the table and encircles it with her arms, as though hiding from the world. I want to go over there and just hold her, but I'm smarter than that. The sudden thought interrupt my calm as I feel a strange sensation that frightens me. I'm not ignorant, and I know compassion when I see it. Why should I feel compassion for Rory? Do I have feelings for her?

She's quietly crying. Stop crying Rory, I want to yell. Quit it. I can't watch it. I don't want to.

Unsettled, I pick up the coffee pot. Sudden inspiration striking, I grab a napkin, and write.

__

This was the firs time I cry when they lok that door behin me, the firs time and I jus set down cryin but not let them see or yer me cause I didn want them think rong; but I wuz cryin........

Gaines, Lesson Before Dying.

Looking doubtfully at what I had written, I suddenly felt a twinge of pain. Quietly, I took the cup, the coffee and the napkin to her table. She did not raise up her head, knowing it was me; I didn't blame her. Setting down her mug and filling it to the top, I gave her a few extra napkins that I'd knew she'd use to mop up her face and then took the napkin I'd written on and edged it slightly under her fingertips.

I saw her fingers twitch for a split second when she felt the napkin, but she still kept her head down. Unobtrusively, I headed back to the counter and minded my own business cleaning the coffee machine.

I put a plastic apron I hated over my blue button down shirt and jeans, and took out the spray cleaner as I started in on the sides. Carefully I took apart the filters, and by the time I got the inside I felt her presence close by. She had climbed up a bar stool by the counter with her coffee. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, but not swollen, and her cheeks were tinted a little. Stealing one glance, I silently worked over the machine, rinsing out parts.

She drank a little more coffee and watched me work, something that unnerved me a lot. I was good at fixing things, but it didn't help to have her watching; it threw off my concentration. But no emotion was shown, I just gave her a curious look and resumed cleaning.

"You know, some say that Gaines meant the whole story to really be the perspective of Jackson's agony instead of just Wiggins' narrative about his warring inner conflicts." she suddenly said, her voice unsteady and unexpected but clearly questioning.

I thought for a moment as I formulated a reply.

"I don't know, seems to me that it was more of a descriptive piece of an era. What about all that Vivian and Tante Lou stuff? Henry Pichot? They're all just characters that portray attitudes and behaviors of the town and of the time."

"What about Jackson's diary at the end before he's going to die?" she contested, staring steadfastly.

I locked her gaze and dropped my elbows on the counter, leaning on them towards her. 

"Mere allusion to the image in Wiggin's own imagination he perceived himself to be. He was torn between being his educated, agnostic self and this poor black man struggling for freedom."

Her eyes sparkled as my words seemed to bring new ideas of life into her head.

"Hmm..." she said with a little smile. "Never thought about it that way."

We stayed there silently looking at each other for a second, me slouching on the countertop, frame resting on my elbows, her perching on the stool, face in her hands. I just studied her face for a minute and she did the same with mine, as though we were both trying to figure out the other.

"Thanks," she said softly, and looked away. Picking up her mug, she took a drink and set it down, staring into it.

"Whatever," I replied quietly, and went back to work.

She sat there for one more second before she looked like she was about to go.

"What happened?" I asked quickly, not wanting her to leave.

"What do you mean?" she answered, cheeks tinged, knowing.

"Out there," I shrugged, motioning to the door.

She sighed and plopped her elbows back down on the counter. 

"We had another fight. I don't know over what, so don't ask. And I don't care."

"That's why you ran in here sniffling?" I asked, a little sarcastically, and felt the bite of remorse.

Her eyes narrowed at me.

"Thanks for your sympathy, here's for the coffee." she said shortly, letting some change roll over the counter.

Just as she turned to go, I grabber her hand. A tightness at the shiver that ran through me warned me; her hand was soft and warm and slender, her tiny wrist caught between my rough fingers. Her eyes warned me when she turned around.

"You were partly right, the whole story was mainly about Jackson in contrast to the story that Wiggins tells, but although Jackson is very much real the author still uses him as a figurative symbol for the other side of Wiggins' struggle."

She turned around, a tiny gleam in her eye.

"I know," she said, with a small smile. "We were both right."

We stood there for a moment, deciding where to go next. To my relief, she turned towards the counter.

"Coffee's on me," I tell her, and lean over the counter as I slip the change into her coat pocket. Mesmerized, she watches my hand, a protest forming on her lips. It dies when I turn around and pick up another part that I start wiping at.

"You read a lot, I take it." she finally said, and sat back down.

"Long bus ride from Brooklyn down to Roosevelt District II High." I reply shortly, and she looks uncomfortable for a second.

Sighing, I turn around and lock her eyes to mine again. Earnestly, I look at her with all the honesty I can conjure.

"I know you'd rather not, but if you want to talk to me I'll listen without a sarcastic commentary running. Just an offer. Feel free to refuse," I say bluntly, and her mouth opens but no words come out as she struggles to reply.

"Thanks." she finally says, and it came out nicer than it was supposed to. The way she said it, it was surprisingly warm; startled, I looked back up at her suspiciously to see if it was genuine.

Her eyes were full of light and warmth, a blue electrical deep current that surged through me. Her mouth in a small smile, she suddenly produced a quarter from between those slender fingers.

"For the great service and the good coffee," she murmured, slipping the coin in my shirt pocket, her finger leaving a tiny trail of heat on my chest where it had slid over the fabric, depositing the coin into the opening. Standing up, she turned and walked out.

Stunned, I watched her as she disappeared down the sidewalk, feeling nothing but the light brush of her fingers against me, the deep blue surge, and the small smile that had graced her features moments ago.

"You're welcome," I answer to no one, and go back to the machine.

RORY POV

Touch can be intoxicating; my senses reeled at the brief connection. Slightly dazed at the whole conversation that had just taken place, I sped towards home. I needed my mom's arms and the warmth of our sofa. Saddened and confused by the turmoil caused by that brief half-second of contact, I entered the house, where my mom pounced on me.

"What are you doing, Dolly! I mean Wilbur. I do believe I just received a call from Miss Patty who informed me that after having a full blown physical fight with Dean where you rolled around on the sidewalk and you punched him out, you proceeded to run into the diner and make out with Jess! Confused much? Spill!"

I rolled my eyes so hard I felt a few little eye-muscles snap.

"Oh for God's sake! Me and Dean had a little argument after which I proceeded to enter the diner looking for you, finding only a little intelligent conversation with Jess who finally ticked me off and I had to leave, when on leaving I made the mistake of slipping him a quarter tip."

"Sure, downplay it to take all the joy out of my life. You put the quarter in his shirt pocket."

"I'm sorry, did I miss something? Is a condom required for that?" I muttered, diving onto the couch.

"Rory! How crude! Wherever could you have been influenced to say such a thing! Oh wait, yeah. Daughter of mine, I have raised you well. But we should have the Talk about putting quarters in shirt pockets. Would you like a booklet on safe tipping?" grinned my mom.

"Does no one take anything seriously in this house?" I wailed, clutching a pillow.

"Oh honey, c'mere," my mom cooed, grabbing me in a hug. Stroking my hair, she held me a little. "Look, of course you'll be grossly misquoted and gossiped about in this town. But we all love you. And whether you decide that Coffee is more important to living than Groceries...."

"Mom! You know we can't live without coffee."

"Yeah, but can you live without food? Cornstarch, we could do without. The extent of our cooking involves microwaves and toasters. But bread and milk?"

"Look, I don't have to avoid either boy! Dean can understand just as well as Jess that I'm only friends with Jess, and soon to be only friends with Dean if this keeps up."

"If what keeps up?" asked my mom contemplatively. "Your arguments? Or your slow separation from him?"

"I'm separating myself from him?" I asked in amazement. 

"Babe, er....Rory, I think in a way you're outgrowing Dean. What was sweet a while ago to you is now just smothering and not enough, and you aggravate his easygoing and clueless nature. You need someone who you can fight with intelligently, who'll match you insult for insult and comment for comment without getting his feelings hurt. Tristan's gone. And here comes another intelligent but completely different kind of boy who (besides being basically a convict) offers you a fresh kind of interaction. How can you resist?"

Quiet, I listened to her reasoning. For once, she made a lot of sense.

"That doesn't mean I like him or anything. I just like animosity."

"Yeah, sure," said my mom, but I knew she was smiling that smile again, and I shook my head.

"Schemer," I growled at her.

"Antagonizer of poor diner boys." she retorted.

"And what do you call you and Luke? 'Oh Luke let's paint your diner. Give me coffee. Decorate your diner. La-di-da-blah'. Who's the antagonizer?"

"Whatever, Miss. Me and Luke are friends. You and Diner Boy are hot, smoking, smoldering, antagonizing, tension-full-"

"That's not a word." I snorted in amusement.

"It is now," she laughed. And with that, my mom bounced up and headed to the kitchen.

"What are you doing in the kitchen?" I asked uneasily.

"Making dinner tonight." I heard her disembodied reply float in.

Feigning a fainting fit and a shriek of agony, I rushed to the door to escape; she grabbed me by the waist and flung me into a chair.

"Hah-haha! You cannot escape! You will eat of the work of my hands!" 

"Noooooo!"

"Actually, Sookie's coming over to cook. I'm just heating up some water for the pisghetti." she laughed, skipping back to the kitchen.

Infuriated, I threw a pillow at her receding back.

"How dare you scare me half out of my mind!" I yelled, and then giggled at her evil chuckling.

I headed upstairs, and flopped on my bed.

The diner escapades were getting into a pattern. I have got to stop going in there after me and Dean fight or the whole town will be on me, I thought to myself. I don't want to see Dean and Jess fight. If I come in there sniffling one more time, he might give me a hug to comfort me and I might like it, I thought, wryly. 

God. What a mess.

There goes in all it's lame glory. I promise things'll move quicker in the next chapter; some serious R/J interaction, something to do with....christmas lights? a dark diner? a dancing santa? read on.........and by the way, if you've got the time, i'd love it if you dropped me a line or a review, i like criticism also, so feel free. thankya sweetly...

luce


	3. We Don't Have

Hi everyone, to those who reviewed, thank you and I love you! You made my day!!!! I'm glad to see there's other people out there holding down Jess......by the way, I really liked that last episode. Him and Lorelai have such potential for getting along; why does she have to be such a ....ugh, it pisses me. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy .......

Luce

Disclaimer; first ch.

JESS

It was winter now, and the icicles hung on the fringes of the lighted buildings, the shouts and laughs ringing through the cool snowy air, joy ringing through the small streets. People carrying wreaths and more lights, people dumping out their change purses into a Salvation Army bin......too much caring and sharing for my taste. I felt cold and alone as I stepped into the diner that evening, coming off the back stairs. The room lay before me, bustling and warm and full of love; love for each other, love on their faces....love......

This is the kind of love I don't know, don't understand, and don't belong in. The mother and the little girl in the corner who's wearing a reindeer antler headband, the way they smile and lean into each other and giggle into their hot chocolate, and the way the dad beams out proudly over the two as he cradles the mother proudly, and they smile into each other's eyes as they look at the bobbing reindeer antlers....

The boy and his dad downing hamburgers in the middle of the room, the way the two laugh and slurp their sodas and the little boy sticks french fries out of his mouth like walrus teeth and the dad ruffles his hair...

"C'mon Jess, table by the wall looks like they want to order," said the gruff but not unkind voice behind me. It holds a little warmth for me as he watches me look at the people, but I'm not one to want pity.

Smartly, I snap the towel, and pick up my notepad heading to the table.

It's them.

The woman my uncle calls Lorelai with that tone that I don't understand; and on the other side of the table, her Rory. Or just Rory. They look at me, their faces full of warmth and sarcastic mirth, and I know without a doubt they've found someone to pick on. I look around, and see Kirk at a table eating his hamburger with a fork and knife. A small grin comes to my face as they look up at me with those matching eyes, eyes full of everything, flooding with emotion and a deep hidden passion for life and love and humor. 

"Hey, it's Diner Boy," said the elder Lorelai. "What have you got for us today? Oh wait, we don't care. Burger and french fries like always."

"Mom!" grinned Rory. "Don't harass the nice boy. Forgive her childish behavior. We put up the dancing Santa Claus in the hallway today and she hasn't stopped grinning since. I told her it looks tacky but she doesn't seem to care."

"Our house looks like a rummage sale anyway," interjected Lorelai with a mock hurt air. "Don't go Martha Stewart on me, daughter, or I'll have to disown you."

Smiling brightly, Rory turned her eyes on me and suddenly I felt a little of that warmth that I had watched a moment earlier in the others.

"I'd like a cup of premium house roast, Jess. And if you use those hips when you walk back to that counter, my mom will give you a tip."

"Sure, make me look like the perv. Blow me a kiss at the end and I'll make it double." muttered Lorelai, cocking one eyebrow at Jess and smiling seductively.

Rory rolled her eyes and smiled at me again, and suddenly, I had the mad urge to laugh out loud.

"I think that qualifies as sexual harrassment." I told them good-humoredly, and scratched down the order.

"Can I plead as a minor?" pondered Lorelai. 

"Back in a moment," I saluted and walked back to the counter, no hips.

I watched the two of them lean in and whisper and giggle and talk, laughing occasionally, tipping back their heads and letting their brown hair spill over their proud backs as they shook it back from their face. It was something beautiful to see, but not beautiful just in the sense of the physical. It was the connection between the years, the love, the grace, and the intelligence that graced the two figures.

"Yeah, I find it that way too..." I heard my uncle's voice behind me, and I snapped my head around to see him slightly grinning at me.

"What?" I feigned coolly, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't pretend I didn't see you," he said, face going serious. "But let me tell you now; mess up the little one and I'll personally do you in myself. You'll be wishing you were never born by the time I'll be finished, understand?"

The light and friendly threat caught me off guard, and I wondered if her was joking. Taking one incredulous look at his face, I decided not to try to find out.

My uncle leaned over the counter, watching the two with a small smile full of mystery. Startled at his openness, and the fact that he was actually smiling, I stood back and watched him curiously as he spoke distractedly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

"The person who gets let in into that will be the luckiest man on earth........ it's so ....impossible, so genuine......"

"What?" I asked in a purposely confused tone, just to let him know I was listening, and to antagonize him a little.

"Get back to work," was his sharp reply, as he got up and immediately went back into the kitchen to get their orders.

I grinned to myself. I didn't want to make life hard for this man. But sometimes I couldn't help it. Deep inside, I had a suspicion he had it for the older Lorelai. But.........I hoped he didn't see his own problem in me.....

"Here you go," I said, placing their orders on the table.

"Oooh, looks good," grinned Lorelai. "Too bad you don't get a tip. I've never seen less hip action."

"No thanks, I prefer to let people maintain their very correct observation that I'm straight."

"Hey, just because you got hips in your walk, doesn't mean you're not straight." piped in Rory. "I mean, look at the Levis commercials."

" And so you defeat your own point. You are aware those are male models. "

"Man, there goes my hope of getting with the Levi boy," said Lorelai, disappointedly chewing her sandwich. "No chance of getting you to fill in meanwhile?"

"No chance," I replied, managing to keep a straight face.

"Mom, go hunt down a new zebra. This habitat is under Luke, er, government protection." muttered Rory, nibbling at a fry.

Trying not to grin, I went to the next table to take an order.

Luke had been right. Whoever it was, they'd be lucky. Very lucky.

RORY POV

The boy looks the same as the day he came here, but there's a little less sullenness about him a bit more friendliness. At least towards my mom and me. He still seems to like antagonizing poor Luke.

It's winter now, the air frosting our breath before it leaves our mouth and the lights twinkling in every winter; Miss Patty's gone on a mad mistletoe spree, decorating every doorway she could with a sprig in hopes of getting lucky at some point in time before Christmas. Around her, Jess is always on his toes and keeps out of doorways; she just looks at him like he's one big hamburger she'd like to devour. Taylor's on his grouching spree again about Luke decorating the diner, but Luke refuses to do it; we've simply got to find a way to resolve this before someone gets hurt. Me and my mom are sneaking in tonight after hours and decorating it quick, before Luke wakes up. He'll have no choice but to accept it or suffer our wrath. And correct me if I'm wrong, but the one thing Luke does not want from my mom is wrath. As for any other emotion, I can't tell. 

OUT

Rory ended her day dreaming and sighed, looking out at the crisp snow outside that lay on the ground like a glittering blanket of sugar. She could hear her mom up in her bedroom pulling up something out of the closet, and she grinned to herself. God only knew what tacky decoration from long ago she was digging up in the recesses of the old closet. 

The two headed out into the night, wandering along the lighted pathways, all mostly empty; any normal person in Stars Hollow would be in bed right now, dreaming bright thoughts of sugar plums and presents. Finally arriving at the diner, the two stood outside the dimly lit place and peered inside.

"Is he coming?" asked Lorelai with a worried frown on her usually cheerful place. "If he set us up I'm going to break his hips and then rearrange them so that he has no choice but to swivel when he walks."

"Don't worry, he said he would. Look, there's a light coming on now."

Inside, a tiny lamp had gone on somewhere; startling them both, a cool shadow slipped right in front of the door.

"He's had practice sneaking," commented Lorelai thoughtfully.

The door noiselessly opened, letting both of them in; setting the bag down, Lorelai grinned like a kid in a candy store.

"Where shall we start?" she squealed, and Rory rolled her eyes.

"Anywhere. There's nothing up here at all."

"Need help?" said the shadow suddenly, startling them both again.

"Stop scaring me like that!" hissed Rory in a stage whisper. "And help me hang the garlands. You're a little taller than me, you can reach."

Wordlessly, Jess climbed up beside her in the semi-darkness. Only a tiny lamp in the corner behind the stairs cast faint shadowy gleams into the diner, and she could make out the clean cut outlines of his face in the dim light. Reaching behind her, he hooked the garland on a nail, and proceeded to work on down the side. Rory followed him quietly, holding it up for him to hook, and the two said not a word.

"Twas the night before Christmas,......" he suddenly whispered.

Rory giggled inaudibly.

"And all through the house," she picked up where he left off.

"Not a creature was stirring," he said with a trace of good natured sarcasm.

"Not even a mouse except for the two insane Lorelais and one Brooklyn boy who'll do anything to irk his poor uncle even if it means helping me put up a garland in the dark at the risk of running into something and breaking a toe." grinned Rory.

"I don't remember it going that way," said Jess, in a light tone that he always used when they bantered.

"New translation. From English into Gilmore."

"Oh, it's not enough you have your own traditions and eccentric quirks, now you're making up your own language. Of all people, you'd be the last I'd think would corrupt great literature." murmured Jess, hooking up the end of the garland.

He turned for a moment to look at her, and he was lost.

Her face gleamed dark with shadowy gold in the dim lighting, her eyes glistening like deep pools into the night; the small smile on her face and her flushed cheeks gave away her feelings, the friendliness and warmth she had hidden for him; he could read her like an open book and it puzzled him. Uncertain, her lips had dropped open a tiny bit as if to say something.

"Crap!" the voice across the room interrupted.

"What?" said Rory nervously, turning around, relieved at the word that had broken the strange spell.

"I forgot the dancing Santa! I'll be right back, finish up as much as you can." sighed Lorelai, dashing out the door.

Rory laughed a quiet laugh. 

"Luke's humiliation would not be complete without the dancing Santa," replied Jess wryly.

The two went back to their work, lightly chattering about the holiday and the people and the town; Jess seemed slightly less bitter and sarcastic then before when telling her about something quaint he'd seen. They'd gone past the level where talk was necessary all the time, and in a comfortable silence they worked side by side until the whole room was decked with gaudy red bows, fake pine garlands and twinkly lights on the counter and window. Carefully they stepped back and looked at their work, grinning at the tawdry holiday extravaganza that would be sure to send Luke into a fit of rage.

"Wanna see what it looks like lighted up?" asked Jess, halfway curious himself.

"Sure," replied Rory enthusiastically. 

Jess stumbled towards the door at the stairs where the light was illuminating the room. Closing it, he left the diner in complete darkness. He could see her form by the window, a dark silhouette against the glass, arms wrapped around herself, and for a moment, he believed Rory looked actually.......lonely......

Making his way toward her in complete darkness as quietly as he could, he stopped inches short behind her. Inhaling the faint scent of her hair, of her, his hand brushed across it invisibly; she did not even feel him.

Sighing, he took a tiny step back, and cleared his throat.

She turned around, and saw him standing there.

In the faint cool light that came inside the diner from the holiday lights outside, she could make out his well defined form, the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck hesitantly, the chiseled line of his jaw and the lean outline of his frame as it emerged from the darkness behind her. Stooping down a little, he picked up the cord and plugged it in.

Rory could not help a small gasp of delight as the whole diner lit up with tiny, warm, twinkling lights that set the whole room dimly aglow; it was as though fireflies were dancing all around them in the darkness, and with a tiny pleased sigh she leaned against the door of the diner as she looked out over the room.

Jess slowly stood back up straight, watching her reaction more than watching the lights go on; he could not help a small, pleased smile at the sight of her wonder, and for a moment he forgot those cold mornings in Brooklyn and the bus bench walls..........

Standing right next to him, she was real, tangible, beautiful in the dim glow of the magic glass fireflies; she filled him with a sense of wonder that he'd never had. Vulnerable, open to her emotion in the enclosed privacy of this familiar place now turned into a magical, strange illusion, she shook him. Maybe it was just the moment; or maybe it was just impulse. But for that second, the cold exterior cracked, and he wanted nothing more than one thing. He stood beside her; fascinated, she didn't even notice his expression until she turned around with a happy smile, her mouth opening to say something.

But the words froze on her mouth when the saw the fireflies burning in his eyes, and the way his lips slightly parted as though struggling to draw breath. With a quick and tiny motion, they were on hers suddenly, lingering for a split second, warm and firm and yielding.....full of need......... She felt the tiny breath he drew from in-between her lips before he suddenly backed away, his face registering new emotions. Shocked, she realized that for that second, she must have unconsciously kissed back......

"I'm sorry," he said uncertain, quiet, taking one step away. The masked expression was back, the guard was up, the gate was shut. "It's just ...." and he pointed up, and to Rory's chagrin and dismay, there was the cursed spring of Miss Patty's mistletoe. "Merry Christmas Rory." he ended, and turned around. Walking backwards, he softly stood in the doorway to the stairs for a moment, watching her with those dark, burning eyes glistening in the gold dimness; then, he disappeared though the door and it shut behind him with a quiet sound.

Rory just stood there for a second, stunned, and amazed; surprised to find her heart racing, she brought her fingers hesitantly to her mouth, touching it as though to make sure it had really happened. She fought to keep a smile off her face, a strange expression mixed with wonder and sadness and a irrepressible excitement all mixed together with a little agony for good measure.

Damn.

"And here is the Santa Claus!" her mom's cheery voice broke through the reverie. Seeing Rory standing there looking completely lost and stunned in the dim twinkle of the lights, she sighed.

"I missed it, didn't I. Something big happened, and I missed it. Damn the dancing Santa. Are you going to tell me?" demanded Lorelai.

Speechless, Rory, just nodded, gave her mother a simple look and walked out the diner door. Watching her daughter wander down the pathway home by herself in a state of dazed shock, a smile came to her face.

"Hah, they did something. Damn the Dancing Santa! I'm taking you right back. You might be replacing some cornstarch real soon." she said to the plastic Santa, sighing worriedly. 

"Talking to yourself in the middle of my supposedly locked diner, decorated by you who aren't supposed to decorate and must be insane to do it without my go ahead. And you're smiling at a plastic Santa. Can I get an explanation or is this another mystery of being a Gilmore?" interrupted a gruff voice, startling her suddenly.

"Luke! Oh...hey......wow, look what some crazy nut did to your diner! I just came to alert you and the nut must have left the front door open cause I walked right in, and I saw this plastic Santa just laying on the floor, and I thought to myself, ' huh, the nut must've dropped it in her, err, his rush to get out'. Don't worry, I'm here to protect you."

The look that Luke gave her at that moment was priceless; Lorelai, not knowing how to respond, bit her lip nervously and pointed at the disappearing figure of Rory.

"Oh look! That must be the nut getting away! I'd better to catch her for you. Adios!" she blabbered, and raced to the doorway, unable to look the man in the eye a second longer.

Luke stood in the doorway as he watched her run down the sidewalk. To his surprise, she stopped, ran back, and stopped right in front of him, a little out of breath.

"You're standing under the mistletoe." she said, in her normal ' I have no point but I'm still blabbering tone'.

"And?" he said, quirking one eyebrow, in a tone that said I dare you.

Lorelai quickly reached up and pecked him on the cheek. 

"Happy Holidays, Luke. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me."

"I will. As long as you don't leave the dancing Santa and tell me how you got in."

"Dancing Santa goes. Secret stays. G'dnight." grinned Lorelai, taking off down the sidewalk after a Rory that was no longer in sight.

Damn Miss Patty and her mistletoe, thought Luke. Without ceremony, he reached up and ripped it off.

Better this way, before it gets anyone into trouble, he said to himself, and headed back upstairs to sleep.

Jess watched from a slit under his eyes as his uncle threw the mistletoe in the trash can. When the apartment was dark and he could hear his uncle snoring, he quietly crept off the bed and picked the sprig out of the empty trash can. Sticking it inside a heavy book, he stuck it back on a shelf between two huge volumes in a tiny space, to press it. Rolling his eyes at his own sentimentality, he shook his head and smiling to himself a little, went back to bed.

Alright! There's the third. Lots more conflict coming, and some stuff.....is heating up......on the back burner.....anyway, if u find the time, i'd love to hear from you (review, drop a line). thanks a million for reading.

luce

ps. next week........a moment in the mirror that will shoot you through the kneecaps. _a pair of blue eyes_ by thomas hardy. and jess like he's never been before.............


	4. To Talk

Hey ya'll, next installment without much ado. Thanks a million to those who reviewed, u made my day! For all Jess/Rory shippers out there, write! For Sno, and all other trories who followed me into this fic, thanks for your loyalty even if it isn't your slice of pie, u rock. 

enjoy.

luce

disclaimer: first ch.

It was early January, Christmas had gone and went; although the twinkling lights were still up, all red and green had been removed by the general consensus at a town meeting. The whole small place now shone with only little white and yellow lights, casting beams of gold out on the dazzling snow. It had been three weeks since the incident in the diner, three weeks that Rory had used to try to erase it from her mind as much as possible. The next day, when the two had met, there had been only a few seconds of momentary awkwardness before the two began pleasantly arguing again. Since then, the topic had been well ignored, and Rory and Jess had managed to skirt around it with an admirable tenacity. Nevertheless, small moments would occur where in the tiny silences that followed, the image of the dark diner lighted up with the softly flickering christmas lights flashed across both of their memories, causing a pinprick of awareness that they both did their best to ignore.

Rory and Jess found themselves talking more and more while waiting for her mother, for coffee, or when just plain bored. Surprised at his extensive knowledge, she devoured the intelligent conversation hungrily. Luke, noticing Rory's taste for adversity, watched the two with a careful eye and a small, familiar sigh. 

They reminded him so much of himself.

"But I have a cause," argued Jess, smiling at the bright eyed girl that leaned over his counter, her face propped up on her hands.

"Doesn't mean you have to be a rebel," countered Rory, her eyes sparkling. "Although that seems to be your preferred image. Know what book title reminds me of you? _The Tempest_. Or maybe _Crime and Punishment_ by Dostoyevsky. "

"More like _The Diary of a Nobody_ by Grossmith." replied Jess wryly.

"Oh, cmon. It's not all that bad. What about me?" said Rory lightly.

It was a wrong question, the kind she had been careful not to ask since that night in the diner when the glass fireflies danced around them in the soft darkness and his eyes had gleamed gold before her. A tiny pleasant current ran through her as she remembered, and she wondered if he knew that was what she was thinking about.

A tiny, strange smile was on his face when she dared look at him, and his answer sent a slight skip in her rhythm. 

"_A Pair of Blue Eyes_. Thomas Hardy." he replied shortly, but there was a hidden undertone that Rory did not miss.

The two were quiet for a moment, when Luke walked in from the storeroom.

He noticed the slightly tense silence between them, and one curious eyebrow went up.

"Something wrong?" he asked lightly, but in a tone intended to scare Jess out of wits. The Brooklyn boy did not get easily frightened by any threat, and so he sighed, turned towards Luke with a irritating sarcastic sullenness and a bored look.

"Yeah, we're out of pickles. The sky is falling and the Communists have invaded America with nuclear missiles and biological warfare. And Miss Rory is annoyed with me."

Grinning, Rory smacked his arm.

"Whatever," she laughed, and Luke seemed satisfied with the balance that had been restored with Rory's laugh.

"Annoy her again and you'll be stocking the storeroom tonight." he muttered, and headed to the back again.

"Luke must really like you and your mother," commented Jess, bringing a fresh pot of coffee.

"He's been taking care of us and feeding our addictions for a while now," answered Rory, blissfully pouring herself another cup.

"Hey, who said you could touch the sacred coffee pot?" said Jess, snatching it from her.

"Isn't that why you brought it?" said Rory innocently, smiling over the rim of her mug.

"Oh, everything revolves around you. Ignore the poor people who also come here for coffee."

"You're hardly in danger of running out. Toss me some sugar," said Rory dryly.

"That's cause your mother hasn't shown up yet. Here go," replied Jess, handing her the packets.

"I'd like a smile to go with my service," said Rory teasingly.

Jess turned around to face her, tilted his head in a half-incredulous half-relenting manner, looked down at her and sighed. He spread on a cheshire grin that he held for a few seconds, then let it drop completely before turning around and filling the next order.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else instead of here making demands on me?" said Jess.

"Asking me to leave?" answered Rory in a mock-hurt tone.

"Just asking," he replied, and started wiping the counter.

"You're right, I should go, I forgot I had to meet Dean at 5! Thanks for reminding me." she grinned, and hopped down from the stool. Groaning inwardly, Jess watched her pick up her backpack.

"Off to somewhere special tonight?" he said, trying to keep his tone friendly.

"Stars Hollow winter dance at the school. I can't wait, I got a new dress and did all those girly things that are supposed to make you look better, stuff involving cucumbers and loofahs and orangewood sticks. It'll be fun."

"Orangewood sticks? Sounds like torture....." grinned Jess at her offhanded descriptions. "If you win anything come by afterwards and I'll give you free coffee."

"And if I don't win?" she asked mischievously. 

"Don't you dare show your face here." he answered, threatening her with a dishrag. "Run. Go ....loofah and primp, you only have one hour."

"Do you even know what a loofah is?" she asked, laughing.

"I have a faint idea," he said, and snapped his dishrag at her. "Get out."

She walked to the door, throwing a cheerful wave goodbye. At the door, she suddenly turned around.

"Oh yeah, and if you could tell Luke, my mom asked if he could come by tonight in about an hour or so. She wants to know if he can supervise her as she fixes the toaster herself with her bare hands and some duct tape."

The horrified look on Jess' face sent Rory into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, he'll definitely be there," Jess told her. "Make sure she doesn't touch anything. Tie her hands if you have to, just keep her away from it till he comes."

"It's just a toaster," grinned Rory.

"According to my meager knowledge of your family, it's your main and only cooking utility. Are you leaving?"

She waved and went out the door, and he watched her go silently before starting to wipe the tables.

The Gilmore house was a royal mess.

Beneath the sound of the television and the sound of the music coming from Rory's bedroom, there was the frantic pinging of the toaster as Lorelai shook it. Every five minutes there was a frantic call from Rory for some silk pantyhose without a run, a missing shoe, help me with my hair and where did my lipstick go? all of which Lorelai yelled out the answer to from downstairs. Bounding upstairs, she helped Rory turn the slippery, heavy mass of hair into a curtain of curls and soft waves that she pinned back from her face with tiny diamond pins, letting it cascade down her back. Rory slipped into a strapless white dress that had a tight satin sheath top and a gauzy tulle skirt that went down to her knees, making her seem like a classy and confused white butterfly. The skirt billowed out around her, layers of gauzy netting and soft tulle, and she giggled and spun, letting bounce around her.

"I look like Audrey Hepburn," she said delightedly, adjusting the fitted satin top of the dress that had a wide satin band at the top, keeping it in place securely under her arms.

"Don't drink. Don't smoke. Don't sex. Ok, my job as a mother is done. Get out, before you distract me with more desperate "where is my loofah!!!" calls."

"Um, where is my purse?"

"Downstairs on the chair by the couch. That was the last answer, adios. I have not only a massive amount of bills to see to, but I have to type out some stuff for the Inn that Mia wants sent out to other corporations."

"Dean'll be here in a minute. I'll go wait."

"Good girl. If you see Luke, tell him to fix my toaster."

"Already did. He's dropping by."

"Good, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to cook breakfast tomorrow." grinned Lorelai, and Rory rolled her eyes.

Plopping down in a cloud of tulle on the downstairs couch, Rory strapped on the dainty white shoes with the thin high heels and tiny, delicate gold buckles on the white satin straps. Looking at her watch again, she sighed. He was late.

Remembering the tiny diamond necklace she had meant to wear that evening, she raced up to her room and found it on her dresser. Carefully ascending the stairs again, she went to the mirror in the hallway, and tried to clasp it. But the mess of curls got in the way, and the clasp was tiny; she was struggling with it when she heard the doorbell ring.

"Come in," she yelled, thinking it was Dean. "And come here and help me with this necklace."

She flipped her head forward, bending over to let her hair fall down so that it would be off her neck, but the clasp still proved too tricky for her.

Suddenly feeling a presence in the hallway, she flipped her hair back up, shaking it out of her face.

"Good, now that you're here you......"

With a shock, she realized it was not Dean.

The figure in the hallway was slightly shorter, taller than Rory, and the outlines of his frame in the semi dark hallway with the light from the living room shining from behind were......different. Confused for a split second, she saw his face come into focus, and was suddenly weak.

"Uh,...Jess...." she said weakly, as she stood there in the hallway, feeling self-conscious.

His eyes burned dark above the curiously handsome features. The dark red, soft, fitting long sleeve thermal he wore accentuated the firm lines of his frame, and he looked uncomfortable as he ran one hand through the dark, messy hair.

"Um.....sorry....you did..kinda tell me to come in....." he said, a little unsure.

"Oh..that's fine, are you here with Luke?" she replied, hoping her face wasn't red from hanging upside down while she'd tried to clasp the damn necklace.

"Actually, we just had a shipment come in tonight, and he has to unload it all, and since he found out I was good with toasters he told me to just run over here and see if I could fix yours up quick....yeah...." Jess explained, his eyes never leaving her.

She stood in the hallway, a little flushed, looking like a white butterfly; the thick, shimmering hair had swung through the air when she'd flipped her head up, landing softly on her shoulders; she knew he was looking at her, and her slightly self conscious but pleased expression hovered shyly in the shadows.

She was beautiful, and for the first time in his life maybe, Jess felt afraid.

It was a moment before she remembered the necklace.

"Oh, since you're here anyway, can you help me clasp this? Unless, it's too tiny for your fingers, cause it was pretty tricky...." she began, but stopped blabbering instantly when he approached her quietly.

Feeling him coming closer and closer, she knew it had not been a good idea as the shivers ran down her spine. An avalanche of tiny chills showered over her as she felt his fingers delicately brushing against her neck as he took the clasp in his hands. She pulled her hair up and on the side of her face, allowing him access to the necklace. She felt the tiny tickle of his breath as it slightly brushed against the back of her neck when he bent down to study it. In the mirror before her, she saw his face as it bent in complete concentration over the small silver clasp. The shadows landed against his face, defining the straight nose and chiseled jaw, and the strangely alluring lips twisted in that perpetual sullen and silent look. But his face seemed almost gentle as he carefully joined the ends of the necklace together, skillfully and delicately using his fingers with a unparalleled dexterity that surprised her. She had no idea he could be so delicate, so careful............

Stunned, she watched the mirror in silent surprise and weakness as he took one step closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his skin; she watched his head bend down as if worshiping her neck, to breathe in her soft fragrance. His fingers slipped from the necklace in a gentle trace of her neck, then collar bones, and slid to her shoulders in one tiny butterfly light touch that lasted a second. Rory suddenly felt her knees almost give out; her breath was slightly short as she heard his. Stunned at the tiny streak of fire that had run up her thighs, between her legs and through her spine, she trembled nervously, and stepped away.

Disbelief raced through her as they looked at each other silently in the hallway.

The doorbell suddenly rang.

Shaking herself out of her dazed state, Rory stammered, "It's Dean......."

Jess nodded, and pointed backwards with his thumb.

"Kitchen's that way?" he asked, his voice strained only the tiniest bit.

She nodded, and went to the front door, where he heard their voices lightly mingle for a while, and then, the door slamming shut.

As she walked down with Dean on the sidewalk, Rory was stunned to feel the dryness of her mouth. Shivering, she ignored the tiny tremors running through her hips and tried to convince herself.......that it was nothing.

At the kitchen table, Jess plopped down on a chair, pale. Shaking his head in disbelief, he went and seized the toaster, fixing it in a few minutes. Putting his coat on, he headed back to the diner, wondering what the hell he had just done.

WhooooOOOooo baby. Ok, now that I got that out of my system and into yours, I feel better; the tension builds. Let's see what happens next........some Loreliness on the subject, and (gasp) what happened to Narcolepsy Boy? It won't be that easy...........Maybe Rory will, maybe she won't. Until next time........if u have the time and grace, drop me a line or review or criticism or flames or death threats or whatever else u may wish to send........i'd appreciate it (well, not the death threats.....) anyways, adios........

luce


	5. At All........

Ta-Da! next chapter finished. I don't have much gusto for the introduction, but thank you so much to all reviewers, and here's another one for ya. sorry I didn't make it more dramatic....but i tried.....basically a breakdown of what happened in the mirror for that moment, through their eyes......

disclaimer, first ch.

enjoy.

luce

"God!" was Rory's frustrated scream as she plopped down on the bed.

The sweet goodnight kiss at the door had been bland at best. It was sweet. And it did feel nice, as any kiss would from someone you liked and appreciated.

But it had been a kiss nevertheless, and a kiss with someone you love should have that sort of......effect on you, the effect where it feels like your blood is slowly heating, burning faster and faster through your veins, making you slowly lose your head.

No such thing.

She allowed herself to backtrack to the moment she'd been trying to forget, the small moment in the hallway where his shadowed features had slightly bent into the nape of her neck, his fingers fluttering like tiny currents of air over her bare skin for a second.........

For a moment, she just allowed the moment to take over again, letting it envelop her for the first time that evening, and when she snapped out of it, she realized the weakness in her hands and knees was back, as well as the familiar tremors that ran up her legs.

What the hell.

Closing her eyes, she saw the shadows on his mouth in the hall mirror again; she had stared in a dazed fascination as he had finished clasping the necklace, and then, for that small second the tiny movement of his hands that seemed to worship her delicate skin. For a mad second she had wanted him to close the small distance from his lips to her neck, to reach out a hand and pull him in, feeling the warmth of his slightly damp, open lips on her delicate collarbones and behind her ears. Completely losing it at the thought, she rolled over in bed and groaned, wishing the sensations would go away.

In frustration, she pounded a pillow, trying to forget, but it was no use. He had awakened a monster in her, and she was afraid of it; he made her want him, and the feeling was unfamiliar to Rory. Her relationship had been so nice with Dean....so sweet, so warm, so pleasant, with those exciting little tingles and flutter of heartbeats and sweet kisses. 

But never had she felt the tightness in her throat, the blood burning in her veins, the mad, dazed want coursing through her like fire underneath her skin........it was pure desire, an urge to do things that she'd never cared to before, or considered. The tightness was unfamiliar, and the lightheadedness.......and Rory was going mad.

"Problem much?" she heard a voice from the doorway. "Or are you that angry at the poor pillow?"

Startled, she snapped around to see her mother leaning in the doorframe. She had an odd smile on her face, and a quizzical look. 

"Uh...." said Rory weakly, giving her mother a blank look.

Sitting up, she straightened her pajama top and sat up on her bed indian style. Folding her hands, she gave her mother a pleasant smile.

"Care to discuss?" asked Lorelai, joining her on the bed with a bounce.

"Uh..." Rory said again, thinking desperately of what to say. They were close, but something like this was too frightening to discuss. "Me and Dean have a problem."

"You and Dean? Or just you?" replied Lorelai perceptively.

"Ok, I have a problem," corrected Rory. "I no longer have tingles for Dean."

"Tingles, hmm.. as opposed to feelings?" asked Lorelai.

"I don't know!" moaned Rory. "Something's happening. It's still nice, but, I think there's something that's missing......"

"And how do you know something's missing?" said Lorelai carefully, waiting to trap Rory.

"Cause ....." said Rory, and then immediately buried her head in a pillow.

Pulling Rory to her, Lorelai hugged her affectionately. 

"You don't have to be scared to tell me, you know I'll understand," said Lorelai comfortingly.

"I didn't mean to it's just that he was standing right by me and I needed help with my necklace and then when he did it his hands kinda slipped quick down to my shoulders and his face was all shadows in the mirror and then when he stepped away........"

"You felt like you were about to collapse." finished Lorelai, knowing the story all too well.

"How did you know?" whispered Rory, ashamed of her little blabbering spasm.

"You're talking to a woman. We can't help it, these things periodically happen. It's that terrible effect that fortunately led to you, and unfortunately. From now on, I'm going to need you to be careful. And I'm guessing the "he" in the hallway was not Dean."

Rory shook her head dumbly.

"Could it be a certain sullen and moody, lonely and abandoned Brooklyn boy?" said Lorelai knowingly, already knowing the answer.

Rory buried her head again in her mother's shoulder, thus plainly giving her the answer.

Stroking Rory's head, Lorelai sighed. It was inevitable. But it was also dangerous.

"You don't understand.," said Rory in a burning whisper. "We didn't even kiss or anything, or even barely touch. It was just one little fluttering motion over my skin, and when I stepped away....it was like.....I felt so weak...between my legs.....like I couldn't stand......"

Raising her eyebrows, Lorelai grimaced. She had it bad, and she was kicking into high gear.

"Oh God, what are we going to do with you. " muttered Lorelai. "Sorry. Look, you already had the sex talk. With Dean, I had no problem. But this, this is definitely more problematic. This is the kind of thing that will get you in trouble. Obviously, the boy has a massive amount of self control. But if you lose it around him....you're not making it easy for him to handle it......and he's just a guy..."

"So what do I do?" asked Rory, her eyes begging an answer.

"My inner mother is screaming, stay with Dean, stay away from Jess! It's bad news! Look, if you get involved in that, you're not safe. I just don't want anything to happen to you like it did to me......"

"Oh, I don't think it's all that dramatic," said Rory, rolling her eyes.

"Look, don't underestimate passion. It's a powerful feeling." said Lorelai, her tone a little distant, as if she were thinking of some far off night..........

"Uh mom, I have a feeling you're thinking things I don't want to know about."

"You're very intuitive."

"Why thank you. Is that all, advice guru?" grinned Rory, a little relieved.

"No. What are you going to do?" asked Lorelai.

"I don't know!" wailed Rory, falling flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. "I can't keep stringing Dean along when I'm in heat for somebody else! I can't touch him without feeling guilty! And I can't stop talking to Jess, he's....the only person I can argue with intelligently!"

"In heat. How delicately put. And I resent the intelligence comment."

"Yeah, but we don't argue. We just have outbursts."

"Hmm, you're right..." said Lorelai. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But I recommend taking a break from both."

Rory considered this, and the sighed.

"I'll miss my daily intelligent conversation...and coffee....."

Lorelai looked at her in horror.

"Oh poor child...never mind....we'll risk it for the coffee. Just don't go in alone."

"Right. Here goes nothing."

"Here goes. You ready?" smiled Lorelai.

"Nope." promptly replied Rory.

"Alright." said Lorelai, giving her a hug and hopping off the bed. "Goodnight, my undecided offspring."

Rory crawled into the covers, the dance a bland memory quickly forgotten. Pushing the hallway incident out of her head, she tried to clear her mind and sleep.

But the only thing that kept popping up was the image of his shadowed face in the mirror as his head slightly bent in, his fingers falling....confused...delicate.....fluttering.....barely.....breathe.............

She was asleep.

Alone at the counter, Jess propped himself up on his elbows and watched the town through the windows, his mind wandering into areas and regions he had not charted; they followed the slants and curves of her, the gold gleams in her eyes and the white butterfly dress that had paralyzed him. His long, skilled fingers ached with the touch of her that had been so close yet so far away, and his lips pulled themselves into an unnoticed smile as he stared into the world he didn't see. His mind was only on one moment.

The hallways was shadowed; she had stood there, like a shy and slightly awkward princess, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her cheeks slightly flushed; she was speechless for a second.

Then, he had heard her ask him to help her; incredulous, he'd taken those steps towards her, and felt the world rock under his feet like a rope bridge. The clasp slipped into place, and his duty had been to take a step back and tell her she looked nice, and then to go fix the toaster.

But he'd never been much of a rule follower, he thought to himself ironically. Instead, he'd taken the fateful step forward into the abyss, just a few inches; but it was close enough to almost taste her skin on his awaiting lips, just to touch her for a second, and pray that she wouldn't back away. He hadn't even thought. His mind had shut down at that moment, letting his senses take over, and his hands had slipped from the necklace to her neck and shoulders in a light touch that still burned on his fingertips.....

Intoxicated already, it was then he had looked up to see the picture in the mirror in front of them. Her vast blue eyes were lost inside his touch, the unfocused glance and the tiny, sharp intake for air; she stood there trembling and unsure for a split second, letting his touch wash over her. He knew he'd marred her innocence; he knew he had somehow, judging by the look on her face......the look that said.....almost....that ....she had wanted him to continue............

Why her? The question burned his mind. He had recognized the look on her face, he'd seen it before. Jess was not an innocent, not new to the game, not unaware and inexperienced. The look on her face was one he'd seen before on other faces. But he'd never felt the sharp shiver that had run through him, the feeling that he was at her mercy. Jess was not used to being at anyone's mercy. And he definitely was not used to being the one in want. He'd always gotten what he wanted, and perhaps that's why he was afraid of Rory. Because she held him in the palm of her hand. And Jess was not used to being had. It had taken all his powers of self control not to close the small distance to her skin with his lips; he had just wanted to feel it's porcelain, silky smoothness underneath his, and his hands had slipped, distractedly. He hadn't meant to scare her off, or defile her. In a sense, he felt guilty when he touched her. She was so pure, so innocent.....so beautiful, and he was a lowlife. He had never been more conscious of the fact that he smoked before; and the though burned into his mind when his mouth had been so near her velvet skin.... 

He had managed to refrain, quickly taking his hands away, ashamed of his momentary slip. He hadn't wanted her to see his weakness, hadn't wanted her to see the emotion buried behind the stoic facade.

She had wanted it.

He'd seen the weakness in her face, and it had sent a fierce electric current through him. For that moment, he had wanted to crush her in all her innocent butterfly beauty, to press a fierce kiss to her lips that would leave them burning and guilty.....to see those huge, deep blue eyes glisten and glaze and her lashes flutter like dying butterfly wings.........then close, and then the soft sound that would tear itself out from her and surface when his hands would land gently on the firm hipbones....

A sound almost like a low growl threatened to emerge, but instead, he took out his frustration on replacing the missing screw in the waffle iron.

She would not control him, make him lost the essence that kept him different, cool, and separated from everyone in this pathetic place, he vowed. She was just a girl. She's anything but, his mind acknowledged, and he started warring within himself again. 

Damn! he cursed mentally. Damn her fucking book that I wrote in and the little notes she wrote on the side, damn the way she argues with me, damn her eyes, her dry sense of humor, her neurotic babbling, her shy smile when she's a little awkward. Damn all of her.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked a gruff, bewildered voice from the doorway.

Jess looked down at his hands to see the waffle iron laying in pieces on the table.

"I was...." he said, lost for words. "Fixing the waffle iron."

Giving him one last warning look, Luke went back to the store room.

Jess looked down at his hands in puzzlement. He hadn't even noticed. Oh well.

Rory was what he was sure would suck him into this cheery fairytale small town world he despised. Cursing himself for his unbidden sentimentality, he licked his dry lips lowly as he thought of the shadows on her neck again. Losing himself inside her for the millionth time that day, he let the moment run through him again like a deep current, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, as though he needed more air. He stared at the wall, not seeing it.

"Jess." said the gruff voice again, this time with even more disbelief.

Snapping out of it, he turned his head to see Luke, who said nothing, just pointed at Jess' hands.

He had screwed in the waffle iron with the two parts facing away from each other.

Torn between the ridiculous urge to laugh or bark at the boy, Luke just shook his head and went back to ripping boxes. 

"What the hell is wrong with that boy," he muttered to himself, puzzled. His expression for once full of disbelief, Luke shook his head and walked away. It was the first time he'd seen Jess distracted by anything, his cynical and sullen emotionless face put away for a private minute. The kid had never let down his guard before, never showed any sign of....well,.....humanity......

Chuckling privately, Luke was relieved to find the boy had some kind of feelings. But he hoped that the waffle iron could handle it.

"Ok, have plan of action?" said Lorelai urgently to Rory as they faced each other in front of the diner.

"No commando, where are the troops stationed?" answered Rory, shivering in the January chill.

"Your platoon will be stationed by the window, far away from the counter. Since I'm officer, I will go get our ration of supplies from enemy territory. You just sit tight and pray." answered Lorelai jokingly.

"Yes sir. So,....recap. I hide in corner while you go get coffee."

"Got it. Are you ready to cross no man's land?"

"Anything for the sake of my beloved coffee." sighed Rory.

"Right. Let's go."

The two entered the diner, and Rory headed for the table with an urgency rarely seen in residents of Stars Hollow. Preoccupying herself with a distant sight, she watched out of the corner of her eye, uneasily, as her mother marched up to the counter, looked at Luke, and demanded coffee with a force and severity that surprised even the unflappable diner owner.

"Jess!" he called, and both girls cringed. Oblivious, Luke called over his shoulder again. "Did you fix a fresh pot a few minutes ago like I told you?"

"Yeah, it's in there," replied the less than compliant voice with it's normal bored, restless tone. Unaware of the current customers, Jess sauntered in, wiping his hands on a dishrag. "I made-"

The sentence abruptly cut off as he saw Lorelai looking at him; his eyes picked out Rory's hunched form in the corner. Cursing silently to himself, he realized what was happening. He had crossed a Gilmore line. Somewhere, something had gone wrong.

Carefully, he managed to saunter back through the door, appearing unaffected. Lorelai looked at him, his features so unshakeable, so calm, that she believed for a minute that nothing really was wrong, until she remembered the confession. The boy was a goddamn good actor.

Shaking her head, her attention turned back to Luke.

"What's with him?" she said complacently, masking her knowledge.

"Dunno," shrugged Luke. "Been pretty normal so far. A little distracted for some reason, never seen him at loss for a smartass comment...but other than that..."

"Wonder what it could be." she grinned, and played with a napkin.

"Something tells me you know.." he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Nuh-uh."

"Ah-uh."

"Kindergarden's been over for a while now," they heard Jess' voice say behind them, in it's normal wry tone.

"He sounds pretty normal to me," grinned Lorelai.

Luke sighed, defeated, and handed her two cups. "Here go. It'll make you die early and get more colds."

"Oh well. You can nurse me back with your chicken noodle soup. See how I doubly keep you in business?"

"Your health."

"And my happiness., which include me getting coffee. So thanks."

"Ok," he said.

Light banter continued for a few minutes, until Jess brought the coffee; Rory watched nervously from her seat, careful not to look in that direction.

Lorelai headed back to the table, and Rory sighed in relief as she clutched the coffee.

"How is he?" she whispered cautiously.

"His normal self, according to Luke. Well, a little distracted. He completely took apart and then screwed in the wrong way a waffle iron yesterday. Other than that, seems...ok...."

"Phew. Big relief. A waffle iron, huh. Not good."

"Yeah, you're right. I think he has something on his mind. What do you think?"

"I think he knows we're playing the avoidance game." said Rory sadly.

"Nooooo, you think?" deadpanned Lorelai in a sarcastic tone.

"Don't kill me with your kind sympathy." muttered Rory.

"Sorry babe, it's just an ironically funny situation. I don't think somehow this is what you should do."

"What do you recommend, pinning him to the counter and shoving my tongue down his throat?" whispered Rory furiously.

"He'd like that, wouldn't he," smirked Lorelai.

"Mom!" hissed Rory, turning a few shades of pink.

"Look, we should go. This sucks."

"You're right," sighed Rory. 

Watching the two forms departing, Luke turned around, startled to see Jess in the storeroom doorway. A small glimmer of understanding dawned on him, even though the boy's face gave away nothing at all. Luke sighed heavily, and went back to ripping boxes. He couldn't blame the boy. On some level, he understood him.

Well, there goes nothing. Hope ya liked it. More interaction is definitely coming in the next chapter, and then things are speeding (heating?) up after that quite a bit. I just don't like rushing......but anyone noticed? Dean's still in the way! How shall we knock him off........suggestions welcome, as well as reviews (though it's not deserving) or comments, drop me a line should you have the time. thanks a million for reading!

luce


	6. Between the Words

Hey everyone, another installment. I humbly thank your for your interest in my pathetic ficcie; I didn't expect such a turnout. So roll out your picnic blankets, lean back and enjoy the show. For all those reading who are thinking, when is this thing gonna heat up, speed up? Well, right now I'm unattractively rubbing my hands in glee thinking of the surprise ya'll are gonna get in the next chapter.......hehe, anyway, here's the setup, read on.

enjoy.

luce

disclaimer; first ch.

It had been a week since the fateful phonecall with Dean.

"You're breaking up with me," his voice had said numbly, and Rory's heart stung at the words.

"Dean, please don't make it sound like that. I don't want to keep stringing you when there's no emotion left. I don't feel right doing this anymore. At this point, it's the best thing I can do."

"You're breaking up with me and it's because of him, isn't it."

"Him who?" answered Rory, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You know who," she heard Dean's heavy voice on the other end. "I'm sorry it had to end like this."

"Me too," she said sadly. "We still alright?"

"Give it time, and we will be. I'll miss you Rory," he said quietly, and her heart ached.

"Me too...." she whispered, and the two slowly hung up.

Now there were two places to avoid.

Rory pushed her peas around on her plate, intent on lining them up in different geometric patterns. On the wall, the clock ticked pretty loudly; mostly from the absence of noise in the room. Emily Gilmore cleared her throat.

"So, would anyone like to tell me what's going on?" she asked, cutting her lamb with precision.

"The inn's fine. We're pretty healthy overall, will survive the winter. Send money." said Lorelai morosely.

"I didn't ask for a telegraph, and don't be sarcastic with me. Any news?"

"Well on CBS the other night..."

"Lorelai."

"Right. Mouth shut. Or full of peas." sighed Lorelai, and contemplatively munched on a baby carrot.

"We're pretty fine. Not much happening with us, I broke up with Dean last Sunday." said Rory quietly, trying to avoid the volley sure to come.

"Oh you poor darling," Emily said, suddenly becoming compassionate. "Don't dwell on it."

"That's funny," piped up Lorelai, "I thought she should wallow." 

Emily gave her a very dignified look.

"Gilmore's don't wallow. We take action. Any new prospects?" smiled Emily secretively.

"Mom!"

"What? Only natural a lovely girl like Rory should have boys lined up on the sidewalk. I think it's a perfectly suitable question to ask if she's planning to make a new move."

"You didn't ask me that when I broke up with my first serious boyfriend." muttered Lorelai.

"You were pregnant."

"Ah. Yes." 

Rory managed a small smile, and forgot her peas for a second.

"I've been trying to avoid liking anyone else so soon," she said lightly, making small talk.

"Wise decision, to give it sometime. I see you've inherited some good sense, fortunately, in spite of your mother." Emily said proudly.

"Must've been in Christopher's gene pool," snickered Lorelai, immediately receiving a glare.

"Your grandfather always was a sensible man, never rushed into decisions. Always took his time and debated it." commented Emily, delicately eating a small piece of lamb and rice.

"How long did it take to decide whether to make me or not? Didja have to wait till he made his pro and con list on the wedding night? Or was I a mistake?" smiled Lorelai.

"Honestly Lorelai, you can be so crude!" 

"It's inherited. Rory's not the only one that gets to inherit things. It wouldn't be fair."

"For goodness sake-"

"Say grandma, nice lamb. Very.....lamby and......nice...." interrupted Rory.

"Thank you darling. Hard to get in winter, made a special effort."

"Well worth it." smiled Rory pleasantly.

"Benedict Arnold." whispered Lorelai in her ear.

"Behave!" hissed Rory, when the clock chimed.

"Oh look at that, time to go," smiled Lorelai, jumping up. "We're promptly expected at a certain place in 20 minutes."

"What about dessert?" said Emily, injured.

"Save it for next week. We'll eat it then." chirped Lorelai and dragged Rory out the door.

"Brown noser."

"Instigator. Crude instigator." snapped back Rory.

""Very lamby..." mocked Lorelai. 

"Why do we go through this same conversation everytime we go there?" sighed Rory.

"The natural course of life. Let's hit Luke's for coffee and pie."

"Um, reminder to headquarters commandant, our troops are banned from that area of combat due to lack of......weapons...and ......self control."

"Right," groaned Lorelai. "Just because a few foot soldiers can't handle the adversity we have to stay out of the fight."

'What are you saying, that I'm too weak to handle a little discomfort?"

"Oh poor darling, I'm just saying....you're chicken."

"That's it, I'm going in," said Rory bravely, and marched in only to run into.......Jess who was just coming out.

Breathless, they stared at each other for a painfully uncomfortable second before she heard the whisper that slipped out of his mouth.

"I'm leaving; you can ...dine in peace..." he said, and walked down the stairs and away from the building.

Motionless, she watched his departing figure.

They entered the diner and ate quietly, her mother bantering with Luke as usual, but the coffee did not seem as comforting as usual..........

They walked back to their house through the crisp snow; the silver moon shone translucently over the glimmering snowbanks. Neither said much, buried in their own thoughts, lost in their own reveries of cool winter nights and warm hands that softly fell into them and over them, redefining them with rough fingertips.........

She knew the figure on the bench to be all too familiar; she recognized the bad-ass attitude reflecting from the slouched back and spread legs, the way the pale light threw melted silver shadows over the chiseled features. Standing still, she watched him for a moment from her side of the street. His back was turned to her, and he did not see them standing there.

Looking at her mother, she saw the silent acknowledgement in her eyes. 

Nodding mutely, she hesitantly crossed the street, heading into the unknown.

She watcher as her mother's figure disappeared into the darkness, sighed, and walked towards the park bench. Silent, she sat down beside him, and yet, he did not speak. 

Watching her mom's departing back, Rory stood up straight and took a deep breath. Quietly, she walked towards him. His back was turned to her, but as she came closer, he could sense her, and he knew she had come.

Silently, she sat down on the bench beside him, a glaring space between them; he didn't look at her, just sat there and breathed in the deep, cool, and clean winter air.

She did the same for a moment, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, unwilling to let him read her.

They sat there, afraid of each other, and well masked. She shivered for a second, and he seemed to notice; desperately, she tried to read him and feel his thoughts, to no avail. His wall was up.

But he understood. Through her face, he figured her out, turned her inside out, laid her thoughts bare before him; smiling secretly, he understood the look in her eyes, glinting off the silver moonlight.

She studied the chiseled angles of his face in the pale light, the edges of his mouth always an illusion. Sticking her hands in her coat pockets to keep them warm, she was surprised to feel a bit of paper.

Pulling it out, she recognized it. It was the napkin, the first one he'd given her. Beck. We will go. Nowhere we know. We don't have to talk at all..........

Smiling quietly to herself, she looked at him, and handed him the paper. He looked down at it, and all of a sudden, a lingering smile on his face. 

"Question is, what do you do once you get there?" he suddenly said, breaking the quiet like huge pieces of ice that crack on a lake and then silently sink in their mammoth coldness. The fires were built on the shore.

"We don't have to talk at all," she quoted, her voice hushed; before he could say anything else, he felt his blood freeze in his veins.

Her lips had landed on his with a thin, silvery butterfly touch; soft, warm, quick........and then disappeared like the moonlit shadows on the snow that shift unaware. Stunned, he could do nothing but sit and watch as she got up and quickly vanished into the shadows, making her way down the street and past the single streetlight like a ghost in the snow.

Then she was gone.

Cursing to himself, he lit a cigarette and tried to remember the way her warm breath had risen in a tiny cloud in the freezing air around his mouth when she'd kissed him; he'd felt it on his skin, the life steam from her open lips, and longed to crush her to him painfully.

Taking a hard drag on the smoke, he leaned his head back and watched the stars in the crystal clear night sky, the little diamond studs in the velvet. And for the first time since he had come to this place, he was happy. He would have dared to smile, but his mouth wouldn't let him. It didn't really know how to anymore.

Well, there u go. Again, as mentioned above, the next chapter is gonna be big! Because, it involves some marshmallow creme,....an empty storeroom........etc. guess you'll have to see. Let's just say Rory's getting sorely tempted......her trials....are just begging. Should you have the time, i'd appreciate if you dropped me a line, gave me your opinion. It's through ya'll I improve. Thanks.

luce


	7. We Never Said,

Hey ya'll sorry for takin' so long. Here's your new piece, and this one deserves the rating, as the other chapters have not......at any rate, read for yourself, and enjoy. Thanks to all those who mailed me, I don't deserve it, you're so nice! :-}

luce

disclaimer: ch. 1

The days passed by in a deep flow, uninterrupted; he was now inside each one, mysteriously, sometimes in presence, sometimes in thought. I'd never clarified anything after that night in the snow, when I gave his the paper. I think he understands, in his own way. He understands how frightening he can be. The Jess people see would have used that to his advantage. I would have buckled in a quick second. But the Jess I know, he says nothing, does nothing, and his eyes tell me everything everytime.

He's usually sullen, or expressionless, or quiet and moody; sometimes, he's quick, sharp, intelligent and funny all of a sudden, out of nowhere. It's those moments I love best, next to his special mood.

I don't know exactly what his special mood is. I can't define it. It's a mixture of homesickness and deep thoughts, and he's quietly burning away inside when I see him. He lets everything out, and watches me with his breath held, waiting for me to say something that will make him forget, forget what he's thinking about. It's those brief moments that he just wants to be held, but he reels his emotions back in, locks them up, and waits, and waits. In those moments, I feel torn up and hesitant, blood rushing rusty red and fire through me, cool fingertips; I want to trace the outlines of his face so that I'd know it was him in complete darkness. 

Ever since that night, when I kissed him, things have been different. The banter is no longer completely light-hearted; even at it's quippy best, there's always a few innuendoes thrown in, a teasing look, or a silent look that says it all. It's because I finally did something. He had carefully shown me what he wanted, unhesitant, and then, he sat back and waited. And I didn't choose to resist.

Although I promised to be a Bubble boy kind of careful, I don't know how long that resolution will last. This week, my Mom's gone to a spa with Grandma again for two days or so; I'm counting too heavily on Lane to keep me out of trouble.

Jess

She walks into the diner, but she's by herself this morning. I carefully take note, as I do with most things about her. Not in a freakish, stalkerish kind of way, but in a casual habit. I put her regular in front of her without asking, and am rewarded with a smile. 

"Morning sunshine," she says wryly, taking note of my tired face. "No beauty sleep last night? Try the cucumber eye gel. I heard it works well," she teases, her huge blue eyes brightening with each caffeine-packed swallow.

"Obviously not for your bags. I'm surprised no one's asked you "paper or plastic" yet...."

"Har har, funny. Were you up reading again last night?" she suddenly asks, delighted.

"By the light of my glow in the dark Darth Vader figure. Luke made me turn out the light around one, he seems to be unable to sleep without one. It's all your damn fault, if it weren't for you I wouldn't have started _Franny and Zooey _last night."

"Did you like it?" she asks eagerly, and I have an urge to laugh.

"Loved it, got kinda lost around Buddy's letter. Salinger's great but that bananafish thing was kinda weird..." I told her honestly, watching her reaction.

She suddenly laughs, her hair spilling back over her shoulders.

"Funny, I thought the same thing. Next time, borrow a flashlight and pick two cucumber slices out of Luke's salad. I've got to go or I'll be late, but listen; if you're not doing anything tonight, you can come over and watch a movie and maybe help me with this creative writing assignment. I have to write a short story, Faulkner style and it's killing me," she said, and I stopped wiping the counter and looked directly at her.

The offer is a volatile one and we both know it; it's dangerous ground. I don't say anything.

"Or not," she says, a little awkwardly.

"No," I assure her. "I think I'll take you up on it," I say, and keep my expression masked. If she knew what I was thinking........

"So, when..."

"Stop by the diner around 8, when I close tonight. Luke told me to wrap it up early since he has to go into Hartford to shop for some sprouts or something. I'll walk to your house with you," I tell her, and she nods quickly, her eyes rooted to mine. She knows she's treading on quicksand; once you step in, you can't resist getting pulled under.

It's her choice, and she made it.

I watch her retreating back, but not till she's out the door do I allow a tiny smile to break through. I go through the day with it, trying my best to kill it, but it sticks with admirable tenacity.

Rory

Yeah, it was a mistake. Can I really say it wasn't? I'm setting myself up for a fall, or at least, I know that should it come to pass, I wouldn't stop it. Sometimes, just looking at him, my back hurts; strange side effect I don't care to go into detail analyzing. My mom would be all over it.....

It's evening, and the lights are lit and twinkling across the streets; the sky is a deep twilight purple fading fast into night. Outside, the spring breeze is still chilly, and I wrap my arms around myself, shivering a little. Up ahead, the lights are still on in the diner. I step inside, surprised to see it empty......it looks so different, so much bigger, and the lights are dimmer inside it. 

"Jess?" I call out uncertainly, approaching the counter. I wander around the room once, and when my eyes turn back to where they were, there he is, standing in the doorway. He's watching me silently for a minute; I wonder how long he's been standing there like that.

"Hey," I swallow, and say brightly.

He's wearing a soft blue shirt that unassumingly accentuates the outlines of a body that promises not to disappoint; rough blue jeans hang securely from his hips, following down his legs..and ....he's smirking at me, and I instantly look at the floor because I know I was staring. Feeling the blood rush past my ears, I swear silently. Get it together, Gilmore; you're making this entirely too hard...or too easy......

"Hey," he says, and his voice sounds almost soft. 

"About done?" I ask, taking a deep breath for courage. He nods, pointing to some boxes. 

"Gotta finish up here real quick and unload those, and we'll be on our way. Wanna help?"

I nod, and he tosses me a clean dishrag and a spray bottle.

"Wipe down for me," he smiles, and lifts a heavy box with ease. I watch the soft strain of the muscles in his arms as he picks it up, and the way his back bends and powerfully rearranges, and he's gone around the corner. 

I quickly finish with the counter, and pick up the last of the mugs; I enter the kitchen, distracted from him for a moment. I'm in forbidden domain-the kitchen. Wandering delightedly between steel machines wiped down meticulously and large, clean metal tables, I poke around curiously.

"Never thought I'd see the day a Gilmore showed some interest in anything related to cooking," came a chuckle from behind me. I responded with a small laugh. Get a hold of yourself.....I cautioned, gathering all my wits.

"How stereotypical of you! I contain multitudes, you know," I say playfully, snapping the dishrag at him. "Plus, who's evah gonna marry me if I don't know how to cook and keep house and raise chillun'?" I say with a lilting Southern accent, fanning myself with my hand delicately. He shakes his head in amusement.

"You're a crackhead, both you and your mother. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing......"

"I'll take that as an insult, thank you. And you?"

"I prefer not to think of myself if I can help it," he says wryly, disappearing to the front, and appearing with a large box again. I followed him into the storeroom. "You tell me."

The storeroom is warm and dimly lit, cozy. Large boxes line the walls, and the shelves are full; I peruse the inventory with a shameless interest.

"You're a low-life with a high potential," I say as honestly as I can, but he doesn't fall for it.

"It's about the smoking again, isn't it," he sighs, and I reluctantly admit and pounce.

"Why do you have to! I mean, I've been on you to give up forever, and its..just... I mean, I don't want to be there when your lungs collapse from your inability to breathe and I have to hoist you onto my back and run with you to the emergency room where you'll die in the arms of a beautiful nurse and I'll be scarred for life," I spit out in one breath, and then cross my arms.

"What activity would we be doing that involved impaired breathing?" he says with a small leer, sending some pink into my cheeks. I shrug innocently.

"Jogging?" 

"At least the nurse is beautiful, right," he deadpans, ripping a box open. I follow his movements subconsciously. "Does it offend you that bad? I don't do it around you, unless you don't mind," he says, reaching for his back pocket.

"Yes, I do," I snap, and he shrugs, and goes back to stacking canned tomatoes.

"I have been known to Scope,..." he smiles, and folds an empty box, throwing it onto a stack. He looks at me with a sneaky grin.

"I'll take your word for it," I say, a little shaken. He shakes his head again, a small smile playing on his lips. My eyes suddenly alight on a jar of marshmallow cream, eliciting a squeal that could belong to a second grader. 

"Please please please please-"

"Alright already," he grimaces, tossing me the jar. "But I didn't see it," he cautions, continuing to stack.

I curl up on a tall box resting against the wall, and open the jar. Digging one finger in, I scoop out a glob of the fluff, and lick it off, swirling it around my mouth. Some soft, sporadic piano is playing in the background, accompanied by the soft, breathless, impassioned words of a female voice..........

"Tori Amos," I say suddenly, and he grins.

"Good job, you get bonus points," he answers.

I'm surprised a little, but not shocked. I always knew Jess was different; Metallica or Tool might be his first loves, but he would be the one to appreciate something like that. A slow, warm feeling spread through me, and a few quiet thoughts began to invade my mind. All of a sudden, I knew this was it-this is what life was supposed to be like. Just me and this boy who I could be in love with, just a storeroom, and me sitting on a box eating marshmallow creme out of the jar. The soft, wandering, plaintive piano notes twinkles around us, and I leaned my head back against the wall. I felt so safe....so warm.....for no damn reason....letting myself relax, I watched the nice view of his shoulders and arms as they lifted heavy cans onto the tops shelf. 'Nice ass' wandered into my head, and I stuffed down a giggle with a bite of marshmallow creme. I rolled the sweet, sticky taste under my tongue, savoring it. This was it, and I never wanted it to end. I wasn't scared anymore, or nervous, or afraid of what might happen, because it didn't matter anymore as long as this feeling lasted.

He tossed the last empty box onto the pile, and turned around to watch me, leaning against the shelf. I held the jar out to him like a little kid, my fingers full of cream, my smile wide and welcoming. He rolled his eyes and tried to suppress the grin I knew he was holding in; dropping on a box right next to mine, he leaned back against the wall.

"How the hell can you eat that stuff? It's pure sugar," he says, one eyebrow raised in puzzled disgust.

"Have you ever tried it?" I answer cheekily, swirling one finger into the jar. He looks as though he's trying to remember.

"Maybe in s'mores," he finally concedes, with a little more interest.

"I dare you," I grin, digging out a fluffy glob with my forefinger, and holding out the jar towards him. "And by the way, you know I septuple dipped....."

"You didn't have any communicable diseases last time I checked," he grinned. He reaches out.

But not towards the jar.

He takes my hand, and from that moment I'm frozen. Bringing it up to his mouth, he makes burning eye contact; I'm paralyzed, watching him with enormous eyes.

Slowly, and almost contemplatively, he tilts his head, taking my finger into his mouth. The edge of his teeth lightly scrape for a second over the top of my finger, a thin touch that sends tiny nerves in my body suddenly reeling. His mouth is warm and damp as he pulls it out slowly, his lips closed around it softly; he pauses as the top of it for a second, his tongue lightly brushing over my fingertip, removing the last trace of the sticky cream. He lets my hand drop, and I draw it back slowly, looking down, and I can feel my cheeks burning but I know I'm probably pale. Currents run through me, and the air is thick and electric. I'm not sure what to do next.

"Too sweet for my taste," he says complacently after he swallows, as though nothing's happened at all. I dig my finger into the jar and place it in my mouth again. Standing up, I resolutely screw the lid on.

"That phrase doesn't exist in Gilmore vocabulary," I say, and breathe with relief. Quick, get it back to normal, back to-

"Did I scare you?" he says softly, cutting me off. His eyes are bright and dark in the warm, dim light of the storeroom. 

He's still sitting on the box, slouched, watching me with an air I can't recognize for a moment. Then, I slowly realize it's that particular mood that has no definition; it's the most dangerous one......

I nod.

"No," I say nervously, still nodding, and he smiles in amused disbelief, probably at my stubbornness.

"My fault," he says easily, and I stand there for a split second. I turn to go, when I feel his hand close in on my wrist. The long fingers easily wrap around it, gently urging me to turn around. My body responds automatically, while my mind screams warnings. I easily ignore them, and they fade into the fog of oblivion. I'm powerless, I have no will.......

He pulls me towards him, till I'm facing him; he's still sitting down, and I'm standing over him as he pulls me closer and closer. His hands go to my waist, and land there gently, undemanding. I'm being played so expertly that each fiber of me responds with a perfectly tuned hum of contentment; he's an expert, building me slowly...slowly......

He rests his head against my stomach, and my fingers subconsciously run themselves through his hair. I'm slowly breathing, almost afraid to, afraid to break the spell.........his hands slowly follow my sides, hesitate, and then slide over my back in a motion I'm quickly grateful for. They start slowly pulling me down, inch by inch, his other hand parting my knees as he pulls me forward, until I'm on his lap, facing him. I feel like I've been shot in the kneecaps; the music's ended and the only sound is breathing, softly melding. A small avalanche of chills find their way down my spine, and everything somehow instinctively tightens. His legs are spread a little, making me more comfortable as he pulls me closer, until I'm next to him. The taut outlines of his chest meld to my torso as he lays his head down on my chest, sighing for a moment; I wrap my arms around him lovingly, feeling some kind of protective instinct for a second, as though he were my child. It disappears as his head tilts slowly upward, planting a soft kiss on my clavicle, then upwards, on my neck. My skin prickles at his touch, leaving small trails of heat in his mouth's wake; the closeness of him, the soft warmth of his lips, his arms around my waist, my legs were too open, too weak............

A tiny jolt ran through me as his finger played at the base of my neck, sending off a chord of dissonant screams in every sensitive cell of my body. His hands were soft and slow and almost careful, his mouth, the soft kiss he planted behind my earlobe that suddenly sent another soft shock through me. He was taking his time, slowly seducing, not jumping into anything with unpracticed haste or thoughtlessness. And he was winning. My fingers lightly followed the strong angles of the lean face, over the cheekbones, and the clean cut jaw, the handsome nose. The skin was soft and warm under my fingertips, golden smooth.

Jess

I didn't plan to anything, I had planned on avoiding this, but I couldn't. She was too close, too beautiful and intoxicating in her innocent, childish seductiveness; she curled up on that box with the jar of marshmallow creme, licking it off her fingers, not like a coquette, but like a five-year old. Everything she did had a sweetness, an honesty to it that was hard to resist. She reeled me in.

I just wanted to hold her, it wouldn't have been so bad if I had let her mother me. But instead, I chose to lick the marshmallow creme off the slender finger, leaving her tensed and suddenly aware. I don't want to ruin her innocence, to corrupt her or make her guilty. I just want to love her, and if I can't do that, I don't know what I'll do. I want to know she wants me like I want her...........so I pulled her closer to me in that instant, resting against her, feeling her enveloping me. She made me warm, swallowed all the cold, made it all go away; I'd kill to have her be mine, to have her do that everyday. But I can't, because I don't belong in her world, I don't belong here, and I don't want to. I'll never reach her. She's the golden girl, the world's sweetheart, surrounded by wealth and love and protected by a whole damn town. 

So I take what I can get, unscrupulously, and hope she'll forgive me; maybe, even understand me. In a way I think she does already, but she's too naive and innocent to understand every motive, every emotion that would run through somebody like me. Lorelai was far more right than she suspects, and far more right than Rory believes. But I don't want it to be that way, I don't want to hurt her. 

I think I'm doing it right now, but I couldn't stop, not now, not ever.

Her wide blue eyes are filled with a million contrasting emotions; it's easy to see that she's making no effort to resist, no reluctance. She's sinking into me slowly, closer and closer, warmer, deeper, until she'll drown, and then I won't be able to help myself. But it won't be here, not like this. For now, all I can do is make her feel, teach her, leave her tied up tight and weak and useless, wanting. I can't stop.

Her hands are running over my shoulders, my arms, my chest, and through my hair. I know it's time, so I wind my fingers in her hair, and she slowly bends forward, and lands like a butterfly.

She draws a breath in between my lips; I let her linger there for a moment, unsure, just letting the electricity of the touch recede before my lips slowly close in, fitting around her bottom one, just pressing slow and soft until I'm suffocating, going mad. I plunge, reckless, unable to hold back. A soft sound forms in her throat, her fingertips are burning on my skin, and her lips open with a gasp; I dive, her mouth sweet and marshmallow sticky, her lips seeking, struggling against mine. Breath, another breath. A sound emerges, a tiny clink of her teeth against mine, and her mouth is warm and damp, and open......her hips give a small jolt, fitted against mine, as my tongue slides in, rough and soft against hers, running over the inside of her lips, drawing back, plundering again. I can feel the softness of each strand sliding in between my fingers as I hold her head in my palms, sliding them down to her neck, one falling softly down her spine.

Short, irregular breathing between our lips. They touch, and break, hesitate, touch and break again, and then ferociously crush together, fighting, wanting, needing.

She reels back suddenly, her eyes dizzy, her hand over her mouth. Sliding back on my legs, she disentangles herself and backs away, step by step.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and she glues herself against the wall.

"It's my fault too," she chokes, her head in her hands as though it hurts.

I fight to regain control over myself, cursing my weakness silently. I'm hating myself for my lack of self control, for doing this when I had no right; bitterly, I swallow, tasting sweet stickiness.

I stand up, and walk towards her. Unsure, she shrinks back a little. 

"I promise I won't again," I say quietly, and hold her gaze. She nods a little, breathing a little bit steadier. We exit the storeroom, and I turn out the lights. With a numb shock, we realize it's already nine.

"I think we should postpone for tonight," she says quickly, not looking at me directly. "I mean, you know, school and everything, .....tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," I say easily, the walls back up again, the mask in place, the former standing reestablished. Everything's back to normal, everything's ok. The princess and the thug. Little red riding hood and the big bad wolf. 

She walks out with a small, shy wave, and races down the street, into the evening darkness.

I'm left standing alone, tasting sweet stickiness in my mouth, in my blood, in my head, inside my fingertips. 

Grrr, baby. you like? Lemme kno. Next chapter will also be surprising.....some flash sequences, maybe a fight? Or? When Jess walks into the house unexpectedly...............keep watching for the next installment. If out of the goodness of your heart, you wanna tell me your opinion, or send me a line, who am I to protest? :-}

luce


	8. Lay the Feelings We Believed Were....

Hey everyone, sorry this chapter took so daggone long.......it's a little confusing but here's the main gist of it. Jess is having flashbacks, sort of. It's more than he can handle so guess who he runs to.........anyway, here's to hoping you like it.

enjoy.

luce

JESS

I like to sit outside at dawn.

The sky is pale and pearly gray, the air thin with the morning damp that seeps into my skin; the glowing horizon shimmers on the black pavement. I stand out in front of the diner, slouched against the wall, the tip of my cigarette glowing in the luminescent air. Tiny rays of pale gold are seeping through the gray, and the grass is trembling, waking up. It was always my hour.

I blow smoke rings absentmindedly, watching them curl and then vanish into the dawn. A memory stirs.

__

flash out..........

Her hair is dragged out, stringy. The wrinkles around her mouth droop sadly as she smiles, blue circles under her eyes. Her arms are thicker than they used to be; her body hangs tiredly under the white t-shirt and flannel pants. She's sprawled on the couch, her eyes blankly gazing at the TV, not really seeing. She's had a hard shift today, working all day, I can tell; a cigarette dangles between her fingertips.

I take it from her hand and look at it curiously, putting it in my mouth. 

I think I'm 12. 

My eyes water, my tongue tasting bitter sour sweet. She snatches at it, smacking me upside the head. I wince and rub my neck, and her fingers begin sliding through my hair.

"Too damn young for that," she says sourly, taking a drag. She blows out smoke rings, little O's in the blue, flickering televised darkness of the apartment. The dingy once-white carpet I'm sitting on at her feet is washed in the pale blue of the screen, now red and bursting with fire, now peach with the skin of talking faces, now silver with a gun shooting, then, green with the rolling hills of a car commercial.

I watch the smoke rings curl through the air, and I chase them with my hands, trying to stick my fingers through them before they dissolve in the air. One lingers around my finger for a moment, and I pretend I'm a king before it vanishes and the room is just stale and smoky again.

"Do that again," I say absently, and she blows a few more. Fascinated and quiet, I pierce the wraiths with my hands again and again. Her cigarette goes out, it's smoke ascending straight to the ceiling like prayers to heaven. All the circles, the rings are gone. Just a straight line, like a dead heart monitor.

"Mom," I say, not too loudly. No answer.

"Mom," I say a little louder.

"What?" she answers, her voice scratchy.

It's twelve, midnight. The digital clock on the wall hesitantly blinks the numbers. I guess I can take the bus tomorrow again; I'll just have to get up at 5.

"Nevermind," I reply, and slink off to bed. She doesn't move. On the way out to my room, I spy her purse on the nicked table with the half-broken leg. Keeping an eye on her carefully, I slide my hands through it, inevitably finding the package of Winstons. 

I want to blow my own rings; I don't want to wait for her, when she feels like it. I can damn well straight blow my own.

__

flash in........

The cigarette in my hand feels hot suddenly; I realize it's burned to my fingers, and I hadn't noticed. I must've forgotten, so busy remembering. Shaking my head, I think to remember to economize. Cigarettes aren't exactly cheap.

It's lighter and lighter outside, morning about to break through. Disgusted, I go inside and start putting fresh grounds in the coffee machine. Another memory hits, this time harder than the first.

__

flash out.........

The radio's tinny voice blares quietly in the background, static fuzzing over the words now and then. The antenna's got duct tape on it, holding the tip.

"Baby, I need your loving," she sings quietly, the cereal rattling into the empty bowl. She snaps her fingers, slightly off beat. "Got to have all your loving,........."

She opens the fridge door, and shakes the empty milk carton, pouring out the last few drops. Sighing, she wrinkles her forehead, and writes it down the list stuck to the refrigerator. But the pen is out of ink and won't work; frustrated, she swears softly and throws it at the trash can. It bounces off the edge.

It's cold in the apartment today, since the heat doesn't kick in till 8. Her ratty bathrobe is tied tight around her middle, and she shuffles over to the counter, to the coffee machine. 

It's then that she sees the pot.

For some reason, when I woke up this morning, I felt like making her coffee. I don't know why now. I almost regret it, making it, as I watch her shuffling around in that disgusting bathrobe. Her fingers jiggle, nervous; pretty soon she'll have a cigarette. Her hair is pulled back from her face, and she looks too old, too tired, too washed out in the morning. I hate her for a second. A strand of bleach blond falls into one of her dark eyes, just like mine, and she brushes it back behind her ear from mindless habit. Cool, gray morning light pours through the dirty window with the rusted sill into the kitchen, illuminating the curling edges of the linoleum. I'm so cold.

But when she sees the full pot, still slightly steaming, her face suddenly softens; she looks towards me, waiting for a smile or something. I slurp and crunch, slurp and crunch my Frosted Flakes, ignoring her. But she doesn't take offense. Instead, she pulls her shoulders back and walks towards me, seeming young again for a fleeting moment. She bends down and kisses my head, by my right temple, just like she used to a long time ago. I freeze.

"Thankya, babe," she says.

She moves towards the counter, back turned.

"Got to have all your lovin,....." she hums, off tune. The radio crackles and the brassy sound of the mellow oldies tune fades into a commercial. She's drinking her coffee, raking her hair back with a comb, and walking into the living room. Still humming under her breath, but she song is over, and I turn the radio off before grabbing my bookbag and slamming the door behind me. 

__

flash in.................

The last one left me a little dizzy; I lean back against the counter, eyes closed, intent on breathing. What the fuck is wrong with you..... what the......what the......wha-

"Jess?" the gruff voice breaks into my thoughts, and when I open my eyes he's watching me. I must be pale; I feel pale, and he's looking at me oddly.

"You alright?" he grunts, setting down the case of fresh fruit.

I nod, taking a deep breath. It rattles in my throat. My eyes are stinging. 

"Maybe I should quit smoking," I say, uncomfortably rubbing my neck, and it sounds lame even to me. He gives me a knowing, sarcastic look.

"You think?" he snorts, and he disappears into the storeroom. I can hear him banging around in there, getting stuff down.

Something's wrong with me this morning, miserably wrong. I feel strange, and restless, and thin, think like the ice on the puddles on 13th and Riggs in winter when the first bus would splinter them into millions of tiny mirror shards as it splashed and cracked through them, shattering the icy gray reflection of the dawn on the dirty streets. I feel lightheaded, and another one's coming. I can't stop it, I can't stop remembering.

__

flash out............

It's early morning, 5 a clock on the dot. I'm on the bus bench, reading as usual. Huddling down, I try to curl up some warmth inside me, but it escaped through my breath and turns into steam in the iced air. When I breathe in, I feel my lungs and heart freeze. 

Next to me, on the other end of the hard, black plastic is an old Asian man. I can't tell which kind, but he's definitely Asian. I always had this weird awe, this weird respect for old Asian people; they command some sort of undecipherable respect, a strange reverence with their quiet, kingly stances and short, meaningful words. They waste nothing. Or maybe, I just read the _Joy-Luck Club _too much.

The man's face is wrinkled and age-spotted, but calm. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye; perhaps a little curious, noting my choice in reading material. I'm used to it, I get glances all the time. Today it's e.e. cummings, _Selected Poems_. I shift, stealing a quick stare. 

He crosses his knotty hands in his lap, his scarf wrapped carefully around his neck, no doubt by some old, sweet, rice paper-thin wife that quietly and lovingly knotted it up this morning, and helped him on with his coat. I've created a whole world for this man, my imagination running. They sit together across the dinner table, eating genuine Chinese food, pickled pig hooves and eel and dumplings and peppery, garlicky expanses of real noodles. Afterwards, they drink their tea and curl up in front of the fireplace, holding hands, watching the fire. He might practice calligraphy late in the evenings, his hand wielding the brush masterfully as she watches. Maybe she'll call her daughter in San Francisco and ask her how she is doing; maybe she'll pull out old photographs of the days she was a small girl in China. 

The old man looks straight ahead, peacefully, feeding my growing picture in my head.

Maybe when they wake up, they do yoga and a little Tai-chi to loosen up the blood. Maybe they will play mah-jongg together. Maybe.....

The bus pulls up, smoking and rattling in the misty Brooklyn morning; it's metallic bones clank wearily as it exhales it's hot, dirty breath into the air with a whoosh. Suddenly, the world shatters and falls with one sound.

And again, the electronic warble.

My Asian Old Man then suddenly reaches into his coat, pulling out his little Nokia. Flipping it open, he speaks, and I'm stunned at his lack of accent.

"Tomorrow? Shit! Come on, Weinberg. How long does it take to get a muffler on a Ford Focus? ....oh, for Chrissake, speed it up. Public transportation's a bitch. Alrigh. Uh-huh. Ciao."

I'm frozen, listening to him talk. Slowly, my picture crumbles, bubbling about in the Melting Pot. I smile sardonically. I should've known. Ciao. The word almost makes me laugh.

As the bus rattles over the broken, dirty streets, letting more and more gray, cold morning people on the bus, I stare out the window silently, seeing nothing.

Nothing is as it seems.

I can't breathe anymore.

__

flash in.................

I snap back into focus, the diner walls zooming in on me with a dizzying speed; dropping the filters on the counter, I snatch my jacket. My mouth is dry, my tongue numb, my fingers are shaking, shaking.

I make for the door.

"Jess?" calls out Luke's voice behind me. 

"Be back," I say, my voice not my own. He doesn't say anything, and the door slams behind me as I race down the steps. I can't feel myself thinking anymore.

"It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees, Emilio Zapata....." my lips say, forming the words, as I feel the wide, sunny streets closing around me. I need to escape, to get out. I can't take this anymore, this mindlessness, this empty submission, this place that has no inspiration, no memories, no feelings. No cold mornings with no heat. No frozen, dirty sidewalks littered with every imaginable kind of city-droppings. No 7-11's, corner stores with bars in the windows where dangerous men lean against the worn paint and watch you when you walk by. Nothing.

Just sunny days and flowers and trees and ........shit, more shit, nothing worth tasting, living. Nothing worth feeling, nothing worth writing down.

Then, like a flash, I taste sticky sweet running all down my throat again, the texture of her fingerprint on the tip of my tongue. 

I stop and breathe hard in the middle of the street.

Her house. I have to see her, now, now or never. I don't care if her mother came back last night or if she didn't, I don't care what she's doing. I have to see her. Dawn is furiously shredding the gray sheet of the sky, bursting, exploding overhead in fierce pinks and golds, the sun rising fast. I run down the wet street, warm puddles splashing in millions of iridescent drops under my feet. 

RORY

I just remember yawning and stretching, then laying back down. First a hot shower, than a towel......I remind myself, willing myself to get out of bed. It's too early.

The dawn is breaking outside. I sit up on my elbows, curious. I've never been up at dawn before. I remember suddenly that my mother's gone.....it couldn't have been her. I drop back into bed. Then it comes again. The tapping.

I head to the windows, and watch as Jess rolls in. I'm completely unfazed. Must be another one of his weird but kinda exciting sudden entrances..........the thought of last night suddenly burns on my face, and I look down. When I look up, the expression on his face is chilling.

"What's wrong?" I say instinctively, and the floodgates are cracking.

"I don't know," he whispers hoarsely, and sits on my bed. The quiet sag of springs, as I join him. His shoulders are slumped. "I woke up this morning, and I was outside, when I started remembering stuff. I don't know what's wrong with me." he says, slightly agitated. His fingers are cigarette nervous. I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to touch him or not. But whatever's happening, it's serious.

"What kind of stuff?" I ask softly, hoping to soothe it over. No chance. His neck muscles tense.

"My mom." he says flatly, looking into space. "New York. The apartment, the buses....." he continues, his voice lost and aimless. It hurts to watch this.

Suddenly I'm holding him and he's kind of melting and breaking into me, and crumbling all around me.

"Make it go away," he commands fiercely, and I don't know how, so I kiss him.

Hard.

He's shocked for a moment, then, responds. There's a desperate quality, a warmth, a fierceness to his kiss that leaves me completely lightheaded. I feel weak. The house is warm and silent in the breaking morning light as the world quietly rocks under us. I take his face in my hands, and kiss him again softly; his arms envelop me and crush me, as I hold him and run my hands through his hair. He doesn't let go. I start humming softly as I pet him, cuddle him, love him. I rub his back and neck, kiss his ears, and hold on tight. I start rambling softly, just to fill up the space with soothing words, hoping they'll do something miraculous.

"It's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be alright. I'm sorry you're here, you have to be here. I'm sorry it's not like what you know. But you know what? I'm glad you're here, because if you weren't here, I couldn't take it. Ok? Alright. Shhh.....alright. I love you. C'mon, it'll be fine."

And there it is. I feel the sudden rush of air from our lungs, and we suddenly part. His eyes gleam in the pale morning sunlight. His face is expressionless.

"What did you say?"

I'm shocked still. My brain races. I don't understand why I did it, I can't believe it did it! God, how am I ever gonna work my way out of this one.

"I don't know."

"Say it again. I heard you the first time."

"Look, I, I don't know what to say, alright? It just came out like that, I'm sorry!" I plead.

"How did it come out? Consciously? It was a mistake? Or were you thinking of someone else, maybe you could explain this, God, Rory, please don't-"

"Shut up I love you! Yes! No! I can't believe I said that! Look,......." I say miserably, grabbing my head in my hands. No way out. There it is, on the table.

But he's done listening. His expressionless face suddenly breaks, turning soft. A tiny smile is spreading out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes are still dark and full of pain, full of memories. He falls back on my bed, arms spread, as though he's upside down flying.

"You said you love me."

"As previously stated," I spit, trying to regain a handhold. No success. I wait desperately for the next thing.

"Rory, c'mere." he says quietly, and one of his hands is on my shoulder, pulling me down. I'm laying across my bed, our feet dangling off the side, and we stare at the ceiling. He turns my face towards his with his hand.

"I think you know," he says simply, his lips landing softly one mine. "That I," then another kiss. Breath. "Loved you," kiss, a little longer. "first."

We just look at each other for a second, and he wraps his arms around me. I snuggle into the safe circle, warm, and sad and content. Sad for him. For us.

"Are you alright now?" I ask a little later, burrowing into his chest. I breathe deep the clean fragrance.

"Yeah," he says like a little boy, a little ashamed. I caress the sides of his face.

"I wanna come with you to New York once."

"You don't want to see what's there," he says, shaking his head. I know he's telling the truth.

"I wanna come anyway. Would you take me?"

"Yes."

We lay like that for a little longer, until I look at the clock and realize the time. Rushing desperately, I make it to the bus stop. I don't remember a single thing from the rest of the day. That afternoon, I'm sitting next to him on a bus to New York. My mother will absolutely kill me. I don't really care at the moment. It's funny how when you stop caring, the world is suddenly light and strange and different. I felt like laughing. Laying my head on his shoulder, I watch the scenery go by.

Jess takes a hold of my hand.

We don't have to say anything, we just think and dream in the silence.

Something new has begun.

Yeah, I know, not much r/j in this chapter, but I really like the character of Jess and I wanted to explore into it a little, give some insight into where he came from. More r/j goodness coming up......stay glued!

luce


	9. Dead....

Hey everyone! I'm back with another chapter, one that i'm pissed about......because I wrote it a while ago, and then I read a story that had a chapter sorta like that, with rory and jess staying at his apartment, and I was like "crap" i hope she doesn't think I'm copying off her! plus hers was so good, and now people will compare it and be like, yeah, luce, you suck. anyway, I can't remember the person who wrote that, but damn, was it a good story and I hope they update soon, again, I apologize for similarities. anyway, to all others, enjoy, and sorry about the big spaces between postings, its the end of the year and schools panic and heap it on trying to educate you as much as they can before you leave. anyway, here ya'll go.....hope you like it......

luce

Night falls soft and slow on the city.

We pull into the bus depot, under the glare of the streetlights. Tired people swirl around us. I hold her hand like a little child's as we descend, helping her down the stairs like a lady. It's a new, strange feeling; any of the girls I used to know would have looked at me like I was an idiot if I held their hand as they came down stairs. For her, it's expected. She alights, and smiles at me. All the world is right.

We make our way through the warm city night, over the crumbling sidewalks and gutters, over the neon-lit pavement and walkways; she's fascinated by the seedy yet beautiful scenery, the dirty magnificence of this vast living, breathing, crawling metropolis. From the subways to the crosswalks, under lighted signs, past restaurants, small, dusty stores and convenience marts, boutiques and foreign groceries she sees everything wide eyed. I try to see it from her view and it suddenly seems astounding. I like how she does that to me.

I pull her past apartments after apartments after street corners till we reach mine. I take a cautious look around to see if any deals are going down, or any shady locals are creeping. It's all clear, so I pull out my keys and quickly make our way upstairs to my old apartment.

I ring the doorbell softly.

Liz, open up.

No sound.

Sighing, I put in the key. Entering the apartment, I suddenly don't want her to see it.

"Wait here," I mutter, and go into the living room. I shove dirty clothes and food wrappings into baskets and trash cans, throwing everything else into a pile in a corner. I brush off the couch, and head to the kitchen, where a huge stack of dishes and general mess greets me. Defeated, I slink back to her.

"I'm sorry you have to see this," I say, and I mean it.

She shrugs. 

"You know I don't care," she grins, and her smile is warm.

I nod, hoping she really means it. Her eyes take everything in curiously as she follows me, no judgment reflected in them. She peeks in the few rooms, sidesteps junk on the floor, and ignores the horrible state of the place overall. I wonder what's the last time it was vacuumed. Truthfully, it's not that bad. I just see it as I think she might. Her response is surprising.

"Looks like our house after a bad weekend or on laundry day," she shrugs, not at all shocked. I can't help but smile.

I notice the clock on the wall, as it reminds me of how late it is.

"Rory, it's 1 o'clock at night. Let me get some fresh sheets for you."

She nods, and slips into the bathroom. I go into my old room. 

I don't want to turn the light on; it would make it look bleak. I leave everything illuminated dimly through the window.

It looks pretty much the way I left it; most of my stuff is gone, down at Luke's now. A few things on the shelves remain, old stuff that's just memories, and not particularly useful. The streetlights illuminates everything in a light, mysterious mood blue. I sigh, memories flooding back. Wearily, I rub my eyes.

"Jess?" her soft voice calls.

I turn around to see her there, and hold my breath when I see her darkened frame in the doorway. She stuffs her hands awkwardly in her pockets, her long, slim arms at an angle. I have the sudden urge to take them, and spread them out, like wings. I shake my head, flinging all thoughts aside.

She helps me spread the sheets; I'm pretty self sufficient at this stuff. My mom never did anything for me.

I throw a clean pillow on top, and a comforter from the closet that I washed before I left, in case I ever came back. I mentally thank myself for my foresight.

We stand there for a second. She clears her throat.

"Are you......" she flusters.

"My mom's bed......"

"Oh, okay." she nods, kinda embarrassed. I like her for that. I smile.

"Unless......"

"I don't think......"

"Ok."

Gratefully, she smiles, and bites her bottom lip. Suddenly I realize.

"Oh, ok, lemme get out so you can change. Water's in the kitchen, bathroom you've been in, I'll be in my mom's room across the hall if you need anything, alright?"

She grins, and nods, and I back out, closing the door behind me. I lean against it for a second and close my eyes, the picture of her slim frame sliding out of her clothes in the blue streetlight suddenly taking over. I swallow dryly and go change into some striped pajama bottoms and nothing else. Sleeping with a shirt feels weird; plus, I don't expect to see her again.

I'm wrong again.

She joins me by the sink, carefully laying a line of toothpaste on her finger and proceeding to stick it in her mouth and swish it around in semblance of a tooth-brushing. We spit and rinse, and smile at each other. I can feel her eyes traveling over me, and her shy reaction; I love that effect I have on her. Watching her bite her bottom lip and her dance of avoidance with her eyes........secretly pleased at the tiny smile that threatens to come out on her face, I resume toweling off my neck and face and shoulders after splashing some water on them.

I can't deny I had to carefully monitor myself to make sure I didn't stare.

She wore cake pajamas. Yes. Cakes. Big fluffy ones all over the soft pink material cut in unassuming, plain curves that folded and followed her frame just right. Modest, sweet, childish. Her hair brushed back from her face in a ponytail, her lips tinged red from the scrubbing, she dried her eyes and proceeded out of the bathroom, trying hard to pretend she was unfazed. 

I follow her down the hall, and at the doors we turn. It's a narrow hallway; more space would be a good thing between us. She tries too hard not to let her eyes wander. I lean against the wall.

"Goodnight," she says uneasily, flicking off the hall light. 

Unscrupulously, I use this sudden plunge into darkness as a moment of confusion; she turns uncertainly into me, and my lips skim her neck quickly, her mouth.

"Goodnight," I whisper and slip into my room.

I hear her door creaking; she's left it halfway open.

My blood burns; it was the wrong thing to do. All I ever wanted from her is magnified. I can't believe Rory is in my apartment, sleeping on my bed, in the blue darkness that was my best ally.......she's so close, yet so far away. I want to touch her so bad, to breathe in her fragrance, to feel the soft pink material under my fingertips......the dip in her collarbones, her shallow breathing. I want her. 

It's killing me. My throat is dry with illusion. My mind drowns under a flood of her, pictures of her, imagination. I try to limit it, to see her in that innocent light I respect. It only heightens the need. Groaning, I clamp a pillow over my head and toss restlessly.

This is torture.

I'm in his bed.

Elation surges through me. I let out a girlish giggle that would have sent myself into fits of eye rolling had I heard it from anyone else, but I like the way it sounds in the blue darkness. 

I wish I could tell my mom, and she could see it like I saw it, the irony, the joke. She's my best friend. But not from now on. This is the big thing between us she'll never understand, never get. The thing she'll always be afraid of. The thing we'll never agree on. Whether I'm in love with him or not, this stopped being debated a long time ago.

I sit up and take inventory of his room. Everything's so different, so strange and fabulous and .....Jess. Scattered books. Posters. Photos. Memories. A stuffed animal in the closet. Yes, I'm looking through his closet. 

I can't sleep; I'll never be able to sleep peacefully again after seeing him shirtless. I tried so hard, but it was impossible to ignore. I full well know he did it on purpose to see if he could rattle me, and he won. There's a hardened quality to the lean curves of his torso that pushed a nerve button somewhere that started a whole process, and that's why I can't sleep. I close my eyes, there he is. I can imagine him laying in bed, so close, across the hall. This is how those accidents start.

I need something which I cannot explain, something I've wanted, something I've always hid. Something that never existed. I could stand against a tree kissing Dean for twenty minutes, and not feel really shaken. One look at Jess sends me straight into bigger problems than I'd ever envisioned having. I've read about stuff, I'm not ignorant. But it's never been ignited in me. 

Now it is.

Get a hold, Rory. What your body craves is not as significant as the consequences.

My head aches.

I open and door and pad softly to the kitchen, looking for a glass of water and some aspirin.

He's standing by the window, the powerful slope of his shoulders illuminated in the shifting streetlight. I don't think he even hears me come in. I take a deep breath, and my eyes wander over the tight planes of muscle, lanky hips, the way the soft cotton of the pajamas rides low past his hip-bones, slouching around his heels in folds. I try backing away, suddenly hard up for air.

"Need something?" he says calmly, and I shrink back. I don't understand how he knew I was there. He turns around and I get an eyeful of the hard curves and planes of his chest and arms, wiry, deceptively powerful. Steel veins, soft glow of his blue skin in the semi-dark. His eyes glisten.

"Water," I say, my voice equally calm. I am strong. I am determined. I'm drowning.

He takes a few steps towards me, one arm reaching up, taking a glass down from the cabinet. Carefully, deliberately, he fills it from the fridge, and hands it to me. It glows crystal clear blue.

I smile a stressed smile of thanks, and down it in one gulp. He halfway turns, looking out the window.

"I remember when I was a kid," he begins out of nowhere, and I listen attentively. "Standing out here at night when I couldn't sleep. I'd watch stuff go down on the corner. Deals. Sometimes kids like me walking in and out, once a shootout. I always wondered what it'd be like."

"Did you ....?"

He shrugs.

"Couple of times. Weed, nothing big. I don't like getting rich off other people's problems. I was hard up for cash, owed this guy named Gold-Touch six hundred."

I listened, half fascinated, drawn in by this new bed time story.

"So anyway, me and Luis and Tony, two of my boys, made a few easy sales. We were getting the money by that night. We had to take two uptown buses to get to Ripley's, this seedy underground joint......only Luis went with me because it was close to this place where his cousins lived in case we needed quick getaway. We ordered Jose Cuervo for Gold-Touch and gave the waiter the bills to give him. Normally, this waiter plays clean. The bastard must've taken the shit and ran that night; I didn't know till later he'd had a habit, and he was desperate that night."

I'm standing next to him by the sink by now, watching out the window in fascination at the hazy street below.

"Touch's boys were on us. We split and outed a few streets down, I took down two of the ones following me when Touch steps out himself. He's watching me, not saying nothing. He saw me take the two down. He strikes a deal; get a shot at me, I'll give you two days more to get the money again. So out come the knives. He kept me on my toes for 10 minutes straight before I managed a slash on his arm. He gave me the days and I got his ass the money, direct this time. A few days later he called me, I don't know how, and asked me if I wanted to work for him, a guard or something. I would've said yes, but that was the night before I got busted for car theft and sent to goddamn Stars Hollow."

He finished the story simply, as I looked at him with a chill. The light made his handsome features look hard, yet vulnerable. I can't believe it, but I can. I then try to picture Jess in Stars Hollow, and it's so ridiculous I almost laugh. A deep sense of sadness comes over me as I realize why he's the way he there. It's another world to him. A world so foreign from this one that it's a miracle he hasn't gone completely insane yet. 

"Why would you have said yes?" I query softly, curious.

He shrugs.

"700 dollars a night. Any more questions?"

"What about now?" I say.

"What about it?"

"Would you?"

His eyes slowly turn away from the street, into mine. They're dark and serious.

"I have other things to live for," he says shortly. I nod, and turn away, suffocating. My hands ache to touch, just to feel.

"Making love to you, for one."

Those last words were uttered so quietly I almost didn't hear it. But almost doesn't count.

My blood froze, then rushed through my body at a dizzy speed.

I know he meant for me to hear it, but he also meant for me to wonder if I was supposed to hear it.

I waste no time leaving. I want to lay in my bed, alone, and think about the vast magnitude of those words. They're burning inside my mouth, on the tip of my tongue. Drunkenly I stumble into my room, repeating them in my mind. I'm numb. Making love to you. I want to cry; he said it so beautifully, almost contemplatively. His voice was quiet, serious, longing.

This is the nightmare your mother feared, my brain keeps screaming. This is how mistakes are made. In moments like these. This is how you were made.

Silence inside my head.

Emotion blocking out reason; nothing is important anymore, nothing except him. Not a thing.

That's why when he comes and sits on the edge of my bed, I lay still, and breathe very quietly. Because the thing he does next, I will be responsible for, and I don't want to be the one at fault.

I know my face is burning; I've never, ever had anyone say it that plainly to me. I've never felt this level of emotion that blanks out everything else. I've never had anyone make me want the inexplicable so much......

"I'm sorry," he says genuinely. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I don't want you to think I'm trying to......use you, corrupt you, mess you up. I want you forever the way you are, so...shy and bookish and sarcastic, so sweet. But I can't help wanting more. You're so beautiful...." his voice trailed, and I felt my throat constrict.

My hand moved on it's own.

It slowly raised up, and placed itself on his cheek, caressing his jawline, his neck, his hair. He leaned into it, kissing it lightly, and I trembled at the touch. He attentively stopped. I shook my head. 

I'd never been so scared, so close to anyone I wanted so much. I could taste his skin on the tip of my tongue.

His weight sank slowly beside me. We breathed in the darkness, careful, nervous. He was cautious, restrained. His fingers followed the lines of my face in the dark. They tiptoed from one button down to the next in a straight line to my belly button, leaving them still closed. The gentle pressure of his fingertips over the slope of my stomach, up my ribcage......a shiver slid through me as they traveled towards my shoulders.

My head found it's way onto his chest as he pulled me towards him. I slowly slid into his arms, as he lay sitting against the wall. I cautiously turned, and began an exploration that I felt his body respond to, tensing. With wondering, small movements, I traced the outlines of his chest, skipping down from one ripple to another in his abs, two , four, six..........a shudder. My fingers moved quickly upward again. I had no experience, no special tricks to pull. For now, my curiosity just led me to explore more. My hands slid over each muscle in his arms, tracing the overlapping outlines, the tightened framework as it hardened under my touch and relaxed again. Tentatively, they slid over the broad expanse of his shoulders and back and he leaned forward. 

I felt dizzy, with the new knowledge flooding me. I could hardly believe I, Rory Gilmore, was here, doing this. My fingertips brushed over the small brown studs on his chest, and I felt them stand to attention as a shiver went through him and his eyes closed. I twined a hand in the dark hair, and let my mouth fall on his as he slowly kissed me. 

Agony. Ecstasy. His fingers brushed the fabric of my collar, we lay breathing erratically in the dark. On him I felt safe, wrapped up inside him, in the steel under the soft skin. His lips, warm, soft, tasting like water, like him. Like rain, falling one after another, kisses like sweet, soft long love. Stronger. Desperate, peaceful again. I trembled under the terrible control he had on me. I'd fallen captive.

He kissed my neck, warm, dry, then, damp; a shudder as I felt the gentle pressure, then the absent thought of a mark. He parted my hair as I turned back forward, and kissed the back of my neck. Stars shot up through my veins like electric tension, fluid metal. I gasped.

I turned back towards him, lost in the senses that buried me. I don't want this to stop, ever, knowing where it will lead. He unbuttons the top button.

I hesitate.

One more.

I suffocate. 

The top slides a little left, off the shoulder. I can feel his entire body tense, and he holds back a sound. I like the power I seem to have over him. I look at my bare shoulder curiously.

One more button.

I feel exposed, too nervous. It's too much at once. I can't believe I'm doing this. I want to, I need to so much.

But he understands, and buttons it back up. Then another one, and another one.

I don't understand, then, in a flash, I comprehend. He's waiting, taking it little by little.

"I want to make you feel like nobody else ever will," he whispers, and I'm drunk dizzy. He's the first, the only, the one who'll show me everything I'll ever dream of. I want to do whatever he says, to let him guide me, to learn.

"Promise me," I say, and he reels a little, then, adjusts.

"I promise," he says, pulling me into his arms again. I lay my head down on his chest. " I promise I'll be the one you'll never forget. Not when you're forty and married with three kids, not when you're twenty-five and on your honeymoon, not when you're sixty and reminiscing. I promise I'll make you fall in love like no one else ever will. I promise I'll never hurt you. I don't promise we'll be in love forever or I'll do anything for you or any of those ridiculous promises that lovestruck idiots make. But I always keep my word."

"I could never forget you anyway," I whisper back.

"This is just the beginning," he smiles in the dark, and kisses my neck again. I feel intensely alive.

"You'd better go. I still want you, and I can't sleep," I say boldly, shocked at my own directness.

He laughs quietly.

"You took the words right outta my mouth. Goodnight, princess Rory."

"Goodnight, Dodger," I sigh, feeling empty as he slips away.

He's gone, and the bed is cooling. I grin a huge grin and roll delightedly in the dark, fighting off the urge to laugh out of pure joy, elation. My spine is still tensed, my mouth fresh with his kisses, my fingertips have his scent. I hug a pillow and grin till my face hurts. I can't believe what I did, and I loved it.

I turn over, and attempt to sleep.

Well, that's all folks (for now). I know it was a little pointless, but I promise the plot picks up; it was just a filler fluffy chapter kinda thing, u know? Anyway, much love to all those J/R writers out there: Nez (you're right, it was the Police ~hides head in shame~ good lookout), columbiachica, Angel Grace( can I mention again and again how glad I am you converted?) and many more that I don't remember names of right off......thanks for the read, yall. if you'd like to drop a little review or line.....I'd be ecstatic.... :-}


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